


Fitz vs. The Intersect

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Chuck AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chuck AU we've been waiting for! Leo Fitz is the head of the Nerd Herd computer repair crew at the Buy More. He lives with his foster sister Daisy and spends most of his time playing video games with his best friend Hunter. He is incredibly single. His life is comfortably boring, thank you very much. </p><p>Everything changes when Fitz receives an email from Will Daniels, a friend from MIT, and finds himself caught up in intrigue between the ATCU, S.H.I.E.L.D., and international crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chuck vs the Intersect

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much everything in here belongs to the people behind Chuck and AOS. All credit to them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to cardb0rdeaux for this gorgeous graphic, which has been floating around on Tumblr for a while and was the inspiration for this fic!

_Burbank, California_

“Hunter, this is a bad idea.” 

“Well, we can’t stay here, mate,” Hunter hissed, zipping his bag shut and pulling the ski mask over his head. 

“I’d like to put my reservations about the plan on the record--” Fitz said, yet again, as Hunter opened the window. 

“Plan? Fitz, this is _survival_.” 

They both froze at a knock on the door. 

“Bloody hell, that’s her. We’ve been made,” Hunter groaned, throwing himself out the window. 

“Hunter, you can’t leave me--” _The bastard--_

The lights switched on and Fitz’s foster sister, Daisy, looked down at them both, Fitz sitting on the floor of his bedroom while Hunter dangled from a rope of sheets tied to the window frame. Though Fitz was technically older than Daisy, there were no misunderstandings between them about who took care of whom. 

“Fitz? What are you doing?” Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. Fitz’s least-favorite pose. 

“Uh... escaping?” Fitz fiddled with his flashlight to avoid meeting her gaze. 

“From your own birthday party.” 

“Hey Daisy. You look great as always, love,” Hunter called, slipping out of sight. 

“Uh, Daisy, I would absolutely stay for the party, seeing as how it’s my birthday party, which I appreciate, by the way, but... well, we don’t know anyone. Since they’re all your friends....And they all happen to be doctors. And we are not, last I checked, doctors. How's med school going, Hunter?”

Hunter barked a laugh. “Very funny, Fitz. Still not a doctor.” 

“Yeah, thought not. Me neither.” 

Daisy sighed. “Fitz, I have invited women. _Real_ women. For you. So please, come out and try to talk to some of them. Hunter -- you can stay here. _Please_ stay here.” She waited for Fitz to help Hunter back into the room before manhandling Fitz into the courtyard of their apartment. It did look lovely, Fitz had to admit: strands of fairy lights and the fountain splashing, everyone mingling with their wine glasses and expensive clothes. He would have been quite happy watching from the comfort of his bedroom, or in fact hearing about it secondhand the next day over breakfast. 

But Daisy had always taken it as a personal affront that Fitz was still single. As she pushed him through the crowd, she whispered to him, “Be social, birthday boy. Chicks dig the accent. Besides, you’re smart, you’re funny-ish, handsome-ish--” 

“Thanks for that vote of confidence, sis,” he hissed back. “Oh good, there’s Trip--”

Daisy’s unfairly handsome doctor boyfriend swooped in, taking Fitz off of Daisy’s hands. “Alright, Fitz, my man, I’ve identified some worthy candidates. Everybody, meet Fitz!”

Fitz was overwhelmed by the swarm of pretty women around him -- all perfect smiles and tight dresses and straightened hair. 

“So Daisy said you went to MIT!”

“That is _technically_ correct, although--” 

“I graduated in ‘05. Do you think we ever took classes together? What was your major?” 

“Engineering--”

“Oh my god, I knew this great guy, he was in aerospace, _total_ hottie, ran track --”

“Will Daniels, yeah. I remember the guy. We were roommates.” 

“What’s he doing now?” 

“I think he works for NASA, actually.” 

 

_Washington, D.C._

Will Daniels did not work for NASA. 

Will Daniels -- handsome, suave, devilish -- was, at the moment, infiltrating perhaps the most top-secret, high-security national government intelligence facility in the United States. Bloodied and sweating, his expensive suit mussed, he skid to a halt in front of the computer he’d been looking for. The words “Intersect Computer” and “Authorized Personnel Only” alternated on the screen, but Will knew exactly what to type to access the contents. He slipped a drive into the computer’s only port, slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses, and began the transfer. 

Images flashed across the screens which made up the room’s walls, upwards of a thousand frames a second. 

“Security breach!” screamed an alarm. He ignored it. 

His work done in moments, Will pocketed and ejected the drive and set an explosive on the computer. He sprinted for the barricaded door, against which security guards were hammering, and rode the force of the explosion through it with only minor singeing. The blow knocked two of the guards to the ground, and he took a running leap off of the wall to eliminate the third with a well-placed kick. He scrambled for the exit as the alarm blared, crashing through a glass window to escape the secure area without encountering more guards. Blood was seeping through his white dress shirt but he felt nothing, the adrenaline carrying him. 

He could hear the agents swarming the building, tearing up the stairs after him. He pulled the drive out of his pocket as he ran, needing to initiate the transfer, whatever else happened. 

“Daniels, stop!” yelled a soldier from below, aiming his gun at Will. 

He took the remaining stairs three at a time. When he reached the roof, he sprinted along the top of one building and leapt to the next, barely catching its edges with his fingers but pulling himself up to continue running. They had sent some of their best agents after him, but he was better: he knew how to land to avoid the breaking ankles which solicited grunts of pain behind him. He shuttled between the roofs, descending with each one, finally taking a drainpipe down to the front exit. Not seeing anyone, he began once more scrolling through the list of contacts --

A shot rang out a millisecond before Will felt the bullet hit his chest, knocking him sprawled-eagle on the pavement, the drive still in his hand. Melinda May lowered her gun slightly, stepping forward to look down at his prone body. “Don’t move, Daniels.”

“It’s too late, Melinda,” Will gasped out, pressing the screen of the drive. 

When May picked up the device, it read simply, “Email sent to FITZ.” 

 

_Burbank, California_

“You know something, Fitz?” Daisy asked rhetorically, leaning her arm across his back as she sat next to him nursing a beer after the guests had gone home. “Girls might ask, but they don’t actually want to hear about your old girlfriends. It’s depressing, Jesus. You have to move on from MIT.” 

“I’m not having this conversation again,” Fitz muttered, rising abruptly and leaving the courtyard without helping to clean up. Daisy groaned and drank the rest of her beer in one gulp.

“Well, hello, Daisy, you're looking mighty lonely over here,” Hunter called, sliding onto the fountain’s edge beside her. “Great party. Really top-notch. Best party I’ve had this side of the Atlantic. ...Within the last ten months....Where there was no keg.” 

Daisy pushed him away. “You’re gross, Hunter. Go home.” 

In his room, Fitz was settling in for an evening of video games and scientific journals when he did a double-take. There was a notification on his computer that Will Daniels had sent him an email. Odd on two accounts: Will hadn’t remembered Fitz’s birthday in at least five years, and who emailed birthday greetings anymore? 

It got weirder. The email contained no message, just an attachment, labelled “MIT.zrk.” Everything Fitz knew about computer viruses told him not to open it, but he was already wallowing in memories of the ex-girlfriend who’d left him for Will, and some vile computer program taking over his device and stealing all his personal information was about what he felt he deserved at this moment. He opened the file. 

A black screen appeared with white text. “The terrible troll raises his sword.” 

Fitz knew exactly what Will was referencing. It was a game they’d designed themselves back at MIT. Clearly he was supposed to respond as he would have in the game, with a move, an attack, to defeat the troll. _If only I could remember what was in my warrior’s satchel._

“Attack troll with nasty knife,” Fitz read under his breath as he typed. He was 90% sure that was correct. 75%, at least. 

He hit enter. 

 

The next thing Fitz knew, the ceiling was swimming into focus, partially obscured by Hunter’s face. An alarm clock was going off somewhere in the room. 

“Fitz!” Hunter said yet again, slapping his friend’s face lightly. “You alright, mate? Gave me a right scare.” 

“What happened?" Fitz asked groggily. "D’you spike the punch again?” 

“After all these years, you still blame me when something goes wrong.” Hunter helped Fitz to his feet. “And yes, yes I did. It’s almost time for work, mate, get yourself cleaned up. Looks like you slept on the floor.” 

Hunter went into the living room to bother Daisy and Trip while Fitz got ready. 

Fitz was in the shower listening to the news on the radio when it happened for the first time.

“Significant delays near Burbank Airport... Security is checking all vehicles--” 

Suddenly, Fitz was seeing not the tile wall of the shower but flashes of images seemingly at random -- pie, a police car with flashing lights, the outside of a fancy hotel. 

“What the hell?” he spluttered into the water still hitting his face. The news announcer continued droning about water shortages throughout the state, and Fitz shook his head to clear it. Maybe there had been more than just alcohol in that punch. 

Despite the delay, Fitz and Hunter still made it to work at the Buy More by 9. Fitz had a headache from trying to remember what had happened during those missing hours, so he ignored Hunter driving significantly over the speed limit, an offense Fitz would normally never allow in the Nerd Herd company car. 

By the morning briefing with his fellow Nerd Herders, he had managed to give up entirely on the effort. He called Sam and Billy Koenig and Mack over to the Nerd Herd station at the center of the Buy More. 

“There’s a new computer virus popping up all over the place,” he read, passing out information sheets for each of them to read. “They’re calling this the Irene Demova virus. Yes,” he sighed, acknowledged Sam and Billy’s giggles and nudges. “After the porn star. So we can expect a flood of sad, lonely men today. This thing kills computers. Totally wipes them.” 

“I think it’s discriminatory that you think porn is only the arena of sad, lonely men,” Hunter called as he passed. The customer he was helping looked at him with disgust and scurried away. 

“Thank you, Hunter, guess I don’t need to take bets on who is responsible for one of our display laptops getting fried after Demova’s website was accessed yesterday. So as long as we steer people from that site, everything should be --” 

But the news story on the wall of Buy More TVs had caught his attention. A man in full dress uniform strode through an airport terminal as the reporter discussed the impending arrival of a general for a conference and suddenly Fitz saw pie, schematics, airborne missiles, planes, pie--

“He’s already here,” Fitz breathed without thinking. “He landed last night.” 

“What was that, Turbo?” Mack was looking at Fitz curiously.

“I...have no idea,” Fitz said slowly. 

 

That afternoon, Fitz was trying his best to work while Hunter, who was a regular Buy More employee rather than the slightly-better-educated and barely-better-paid Nerd Herd staff, lounged against the Nerd Herd desk. So used to Hunter’s rambles was Fitz that he Fitz didn’t look up from his phone call as Hunter breathed out, “Hey, Fitz. Get a load of that dame. Just your type. A nerdy Vicki Vale.” 

“I’ve always been more a Marvel fan myself,” Fitz said absentmindedly, rather enjoying the hold music on the other end of the line. 

“No really, Fitz. Like if Vicki Vale wore argyle.” 

“Vicki Vale, Vickity Vicki Vale, V-v-v-vicki Vale,” Fitz sang, wiggling his head to the meaningless song. He looked up and dropped the file he was holding as the phone slipped from his ear, crashing to the desk in a few pieces. 

A beautiful woman, with shoulder length, slightly-curled brown hair and deep brown eyes, a woman even shorter than Fitz himself, was leaning against the Nerd Herd counter, smiling indulgently. She’d clearly heard the entire exchange. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said innocently. _English. Bloody hell._

“No, not-- of course not, that’s why we’re here--” Fitz looked to Hunter for help, but Hunter was watching Fitz struggle with great amusement. “It’s from Batman--” 

“I know. Not that that makes it better.” 

Fitz winced, but her smile was teasing. He laughed awkwardly. 

“I’m Hunter,” Hunter interrupted, sliding up next to the woman and offering his hand. 

“Of all the electronics shops in all of Los Angeles, I choose the one with two fellow Brits,” she grinned. “I feel quite at home.” 

“How can I help you, uh--”

“Jemma. I’m here about my phone. Can’t seem to get the darn thing to work.” 

“Ah yes, this model is tricky. I mean, on a technical level, it’s the most basic one available, standard flip phone, but the design is right shite. Average user has no chance.” Fitz had pried the back of the phone off, holding it between his teeth while he fiddled with the innards. “But just a few touches here and there and -- There you have it.” He pressed the power button and the screen lit up right away with an outdated jingle. 

“Wow, you geeks _are_ good,” the woman -- Jemma -- breathed as she accepted the phone back from Fitz, just brushing his fingers. 

“Nerds,” he corrected automatically, flushing. “We actually prefer the term nerds. It’s semantics, I acknowledge, but--” 

Another customer rushed over, a frantic father who’d accidentally deleted the entire video of his daughter’s ballet recital. Fitz and Hunter helped set up an impromptu recital in a corner of the store so the father could record it again, and Fitz was surprised to look up halfway through and see Jemma standing at the end of an aisle, leaning against a display of headphones, watching him with a smile. But by the time he got back to the Nerd Herd station, she was nowhere in site. He sank into his chair, not surprised but unable to keep the regret and disappointment from hitting him. 

“Hey, mate, that English bird left this for you,” Hunter said, leaning across the counter with a grin. 

Fitz accepted the little card. “Her...number?” 

They debated whether Fitz should call the beautiful girl the whole ride home, then the walk from the car through the courtyard and into the apartment Fitz shared with Daisy and Trip. Fitz maintained that there was no universe in which Jemma was actually interested in him, a pasty, shy nerd, but Hunter, ever the optimistic wing-man, was running through the possibilities once again as Fitz opened the front door and turned the lights on -- only to find someone dressed all in black frozen in the middle of the living room, clearly caught in the middle of attempting to make off with Fitz’s computer tower. Fitz gave a little shriek. 

“Anything but the computer!” he gasped. 

Before either of them could move, the figure had knocked them both down with just a few punches. In the melee, though, the computer crashed to the ground. The thief, seeing its target shattered across the floorboards, dashed across the room and let itself down from the window. Fitz groaned from where he was pinned under Hunter. "Hunter, I give up. The universe hates me." 

The next day, the Koenigs checked the computer for Fitz -- hardware was more their specialty than his -- but Sam declared it DOA. Billy, meanwhile, was obsessed with the details of the attack. 

“What if you were the target of a ninja vendetta -- no, hear me out, Sam, it’s a real thing -- and he returns tonight to finish the job with his nunchucks? God, I want a set of nunchucks...” 

Fitz hadn't wanted to bother Daisy or Trip with the invasion and was determined to keep them from ever finding out. When his morning shit was over, he went to Large Mart, the depot next to the Buy More, to buy sturdier locks for the apartment. The Large Mart was eerily empty, though it was the middle of the workday, he realized. Still, he couldn’t find an employee anywhere. Finally, he saw a man in the cereal aisle and hurried up to him. “Excuse me, could you direct me to the--” 

The man turned, and Fitz had only a moment to register the alarming emptiness of his eyes before Fitz was seeing pie, passport, eyeball, soldier, explosion, bomb, palm tree, another explosion, assassin, pie--

“What do you want?” demanded the man, clearly not an employee. 

“Nothing!” Fitz squeaked. “I’ll just -- head alone here -- see what I can find, uh, by myself--” 

He hurried off down the aisle, but halfway down, he heard footsteps following him. He stopped, breathing quickly, and heard the man stop too. Panicking, not knowing what else to do, Fitz broke into a run, weaving illogically through the aisles and displays until he collided headlong with an employee. 

“You have to help me!” he gasped, but over her shoulder he saw the man checking out, smiling breezily as he chatted with the cashier. He looked completely normal. Fitz looked around and suddenly the place was filled with customers. “Er-- help me find some locks?” 

Back at the Buy More, Fitz placed his head in his hands. “I’m going crazy. I’m losing my mind. This is it, this is the end--” he muttered to himself. 

The bell on the counter next to him dinged, someone asking for attention. “Not now, Hunter, can’t you see I’m having a meltdown?” he bit out, reaching out a hand to stop Hunter from ringing the bell again. 

Only, Hunter definitely didn’t have a manicure. 

Jemma was back, her smile brighter than before, if that were possible, her hair today cinched into a ponytail. 

“Phone trouble again?” Fitz asked, his voice abnormally high. 

“Yes, actually. You see, I don’t think I’m able to receive calls, seeing as how I never got one from you.” 

Fitz heard Hunter snort from where he was apparently crouched at Fitz’s feet, eavesdropping. Fitz kicked him. 

“I just moved to the area, and I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles and, well, I was hoping you might be my second pair of eyes, show me around a bit.” 

Hunter was tugging on Fitz’s pantleg. 

“Of course. Anything I can do to help. We nerds are here to serve.” 

Hunter groaned. 

“Great. It’s a date,” Jemma smiled. 

If she hadn’t used that specific word, Fitz never would have dared mention it to Daisy. As it turned out, he wished he hadn’t, for she made him shower all over again and pushed his hair around -- as if his curls did anything but just lay there -- and picked out a dress shirt for him. She nixed the cardigan but let him keep his trusty pair of Converse high-tops. 

“No mentioning Raina!” she called after him as he departed with a bouquet she’d made him take for Jemma. 

Fitz picked Jemma up from her hotel room -- she still hadn’t found a permanent residence -- and surprised even himself with a quick smile and an inane joke which made her laugh. They started their date at an obscure Mexican restaurant with a live Mariachi band, and as nervous has he expected to be, Fitz found talking to Jemma over chips and margaritas breathtakingly effortless. 

“Trip is a god. Honestly, living next to those muscles -- it’s quite a challenge. He’s also amazing at everything. Not only is he a surgeon, he climbs mountains and jumps out of planes -- he’s even good at flossing.” 

Jemma laughed. “That’s funny.” She tilted her head. “You’re very funny, Fitz. Which is good, because I am not at all funny, and we balance each other well.” 

“Is that your big secret?” Fitz blurted out, wishing already that he could take it back. Her face fell, so he rushed on, “It’s just, I’ve been sitting here, across from you, trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, and after strategic elimination I’m left with either you’re a cannibal, or you’re not that funny, and frankly I’m disappointed it wasn’t the cannibal option.” 

“Not a cannibal, but... I recently ended a long relationship, and I may have some...baggage.” 

“I could be your very own baggage handler,” Fitz said softly. They both winced at that one, and Jemma averted her eyes. “So,” he continued quickly. “This ex, he’s the reason you moved here? From--”

“D.C. Yes. I looked up one day and realized all of my friends were actually his friends and everything in D.C. reminded me of -- Walt, and I knew it was time to change something.” 

“You made fun of _my name_ , and you dated a guy named _Walt_? I’m starting to think you just like making fun of me.” 

“Oh, I _definitely_ just like making fun of you.” 

They grinned at each other, and Fitz felt his stomach swoop. What was happening? What did this brilliant, beautiful woman see in him, Leo Fitz, professional nerd? 

After dinner, they talked rapidly the whole way to the club. Fitz didn’t know enough about biochemistry to actually understand anything she said about her PhD dissertation, but she was talking science, and he couldn’t believe his luck. 

The Boiler Room wasn’t normally Fitz’s scene, but Jemma was fun and sophisticated and someone he pictured as fitting in perfectly at the underground club. They each got a beer and Jemma was sitting right next to Fitz and looking up at him with a slight smile and despite the pounding music it seemed like it was just them and everything else was disappearing-- He looked away swiftly, swallowing hard. He knew better than to let himself get caught up in situations like this. 

Beside him, Jemma stiffened. _Shite, now you’ve blown it_ \-- but when she stood, it was to grab his hand. “Let’s dance,” she shouted at him over the noise. 

“Jemma, I don’t -- I can’t dance--”

But she had pulled him to the center of the dance floor and was shimmying in front of him and he didn’t know anything about dancing and had no idea if what she was doing was any good at all but he was regretting bringing them both here as he stepped from one foot to the other and looked anywhere but at her-- She was dancing all around him and he had no idea what to do -- Some disturbance was happening in the crowd around them but he couldn’t clear his head enough to see what it was-- 

All too soon, or maybe just in time, she was grabbing his hand again and they were hurtling up the stairs out of the club, into the street, Jemma pulling on her sweater. 

“Hey, where’s the fire?” Fitz joked. “Oh god, was I that bad--?”

“Fitz, give me the keys.” She was already at the driver’s side of the Nerdmobile. 

“Technically only I’m allowed to drive this -- well, Nerds -- uh, employees--” Christ, Fitz--

Jemma glanced behind her, pulled something out of her pocket, and shimmied the door open within seconds. “Get in, Fitz.” 

“How did you--” 

Down the street, a giant black SUV screeched around the corner, careening across lanes -- coming directly at them. 

“Jemma-”

“Ugh, Fitz! Just get in!” Jemma yelled, throwing his door open. 

He had barely shut the door behind him when the car was hurtling backwards, Jemma barely glancing over her shoulder as she slammed on the acceleration and reversed. The SUV pursued, nearly bumping the front bumper of the Nerdmobile. Cars swerved to get out of their way. 

“What the hell is happening?” Fitz cried out. 

The SUV surged forward to dent the hood of their car, and Fitz and Jemma both jerked in their seats at the collision, but Jemma kept driving. “Tell me when to turn!” she yelled at Fitz. 

“Left in five seconds!”

“Your left or my left?” 

“What?!”

“Fitz! -- Too late!” She jerked the steering wheel, and rather than taking them down the intersecting street on one side, the car plunged down a set of stairs, past gawping skateboarders and into another street. The SUV, too wide to fit through the planters at the head of the stairs, was forced to stop. 

Fitz dropped his head back against the headrest. “Jemma,” he begged. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

“Fitz, I need you to listen to me. Those people will hurt you. They’re from an organization called the ATCU and they’re after you.” 

“Me? No. There’s been a mistake. I’m the supervisor of a Nerd Herd at an electronics store-- Maybe one day I’ll be assistant store manager, though I'm not even sure if I want that--”

“Fitz!” Jemma screamed, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him towards her seconds before the SUV slammed into the passenger side of the car, completely crushing the place where Fitz had been seconds before. 

Jemma helped a shaking Fitz clamber past the activated airbags and out of the car on her side. This time her orders to run were unnecessary, as they both sprinted away from the wreckage as the SUV made a U-turn and barrelled back towards them. But Fitz tripped -- of course he tripped -- and Jemma turned, and they watched together, unable to move, as the SUV headed straight for her. 

“Jemma!” Fitz yelled. 

Seconds before it would have hit her, she pulled a knife out of the ankle of her boot and threw it with alarming speed, hitting a button on a security guard booth which raised barriers in the road to prevent cars from entering. The SUV slammed into one, its whole front crumpling into itself, and Jemma crouched in the sparks, unscathed. 

“Jemma,” Fitz repeated, breathless, finally getting to his feet and running for her. He hesitated inches away from her, wanting to touch her, to make sure she was really okay. He heard her finish saying something into her watch -- “I’m sending my coordinates” -- before she grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her towards the parking garage beyond the security gate. They sprinted up dozens of flights of stairs, reaching the roof with Fitz wheezing in agony and Jemma barely sweating. 

“How well do you know Will Daniels?” she demanded as he scrambled after her. 

“What?! How do you know Will?” 

“We worked together at S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“As in, Captain America, Peggy Carter, Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Logistics Division, that S.H.I.E.L.D.? I didn’t even think that was real. Will’s a spy?” 

“A rogue spy.” There was a ferocity in her voice that was new, that terrified him. “Did he try to contact you?” 

“He, uh, he sent me an email-” 

“Did you open it? Fitz, this is incredibly important.” 

“Yeah -- it was just a line from this video game, not important, I thought it was a gag gift--” 

“Fitz!” 

“Okay, okay -- uh, it was like a riddle and I solved it, and then next thing I knew there were all these images flashing on the screen--” Fitz hadn’t even realized he remembered this part. “And then I woke up on the floor the next morning.” 

“You saw them? The pictures, you saw them?” Jemma moved towards him, frantic but also, Fitz thought, intrigued. 

“Like I said I thought it was a joke--”

“Your computer, Fitz, did you back it up? Do you have an external drive?” 

“It crashed a week ago, took my entire life with it. Jemma, what the hell is going on? What were those pictures?” 

“Fitz, I’m going to need to aim my gun at you, okay? Don’t freak out.” 

“What?! Why--” 

“I don’t have time for this,” said a crisp voice behind Fitz. He spun to see a woman he recognized from the SUV’s passenger seat, a fierce-looking Asian woman he knew instantly he’d be a fool to cross. She circled behind him, walking towards Jemma. “Stop fronting, Simmons. He should go to the ATCU.” 

Jemma whipped her gun out and pointed it at Fitz, who squeaked and threw his hands up; the woman from the ATCU in turn had her gun trained on Jemma. 

“Come any closer and I _will_ shoot him, May,” Jemma said calmly -- too calmly, in Fitz’s opinion, considering what she was suggesting. 

“Jemma, I’m freaking out,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“How will shooting him help anyone, Simmons? You shoot him, I shoot you. I leave both your bodies here and still have time to get a drink. Doesn’t have to go down that way, Simmons.” 

Fitz had had just about enough. Praying to a god he didn’t believe in, he spun on his heel and sprinted for the stairs. 

“Fitz, no!” Jemma yelled, but Fitz would’ve stopped anyway, blinded as he was by another flash -- pie, schematics, blueprint, explosion, bomb, assassin, bomb, pie -- 

“They’re gonna kill him,” he said, not knowing what he was saying for the second time that day, as he turned back to them. “Stanfield, the general, the NATO guy.” 

May and Jemma -- Simmons? -- exchanged skeptical looks. 

“Look, something is wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I’m remembering things I shouldn’t know. Jemma, please--” 

“Okay, Fitz, tell me what it is. Talk me through what you saw.” 

“Well, for starters, there was a Serbian demolition expert at the Large Mart today. A bit out of the ordinary for Burbank, I’d say. Oh and also, last week, you guys,” he said to May, “the ATCU, intercepted some blueprints for that hotel, right there.” He pointed across the way from the rooftop on which they were standing. “And then S.H.I.E.L.D. found schematics for a bomb in Prague. The bomb, Jemma, I think -- I think it's in that hotel.” 

As soon as he finished speaking, May spun to point her gun at him. Jemma switched to point hers at May. 

“He was working with Daniels,” May spat. 

“No, he opened Will’s email,” Jemma corrected. “Fitz, those pictures that you saw were encoded with secrets. Our secrets, S.H.I.E.L.D., the ATCU, the government. If you saw them, then you know them. 

“All our secrets are in his head?” The laser on May’s gun settled between Fitz’s eyebrows. 

“What is happening to me?” Fitz begged. This was without a doubt the worst date ever.

“Fitz, you said there was a bomb. Is there time to stop it?” 

“What? Are you crazy?” 

“No, we’re the good guys,” May said coolly. “We get paid to keep bombs from exploding, aliens from invading, things like that.” 

“I can’t help you,” Fitz said desperately. “Call Will, he’s the one who can help--”

“Will is dead,” Jemma snapped, not taking her eyes off of May. “He died sending our secrets to you.” 

“Will is dead?” Fitz was reeling.

“He’s about to have some company if you don’t start talking.” May took a step closer to Fitz. 

“According to the schedule, the general is already on the stage,” Fitz sighed, resting his hands on his lower back. 

“Let’s not waste more time then, hmm?” Jemma tucked her gun into her waistband and after a moment May reluctantly followed suit. Together the three sprinted back down the stairs -- Fitz wasn’t going to exercise again for a year after this torture -- and across the street, dodging traffic; they hurtled through the hotel lobby, taking a shortcut straight through the giant fountain despite the guard’s yells. At the entrance to the hotel’s main ballroom, Jemma came to a sudden stop, grabbing Fitz’s shirt as he almost collided with her. 

“We can’t take him in there, he’s too valuable!” Jemma hissed at May. 

“Based on the bomb schematics, being out here isn’t any safer,” Fitz panted. “So thanks for that.” 

“At least our secrets would be safe if he died,” May snarled. 

Trying not to think about that, Fitz led them into the ballroom, where he scanned the room for anything like a bomb. _Now would be a good time for a flash_. “That must be it,” he whispered, pointing to a silver, domed food cart at the exact center of the ballroom, knowing he was right, not knowing how he knew. 

May twisted his arm behind his back and forced him through the tables of military officials and wealthy donors to the cart. Whispers rippled through the room as people turned to look at them, and the general, at the podium droning on about the obligation to protect, faltered as if unsure whether to proceed. 

Jemma pushed back the lid of the food cart to reveal a laptop with a countdown. “Oh god,” she whispered. One minute thirty seconds and dropping. She tore off the cloth wrapped around the base of the cart to reveal stacks of explosives wired to the computer. 

“No time to evacuate. We’ll have to disconnect the bomb,” May said. 

“There are too many wires, most of them are likely traps,” Jemma replied, running a finger carefully through the tangle of wires. 

“What the hell are you doing?” The guards had noticed, finally, and swarmed the three of them as they hovered around the bomb. The guests began to panic, not knowing what was happening but nonetheless running into each other in their haste to escape. 

“Fitz, is there anything else you remember about the bomb?” Jemma gripped his forearm tightly. 

“Uh--” 

Just then his phone went off with the ringtone Hunter had chosen for himself: “Superfreak, superfreak, she’s superfreaky!” Jemma and May both groaned and rolled their eyes, turning back to the bomb as Fitz answered the call, blushing furiously. 

“Fitz, my man, how’s the date?” Hunter yelled. 

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Hunter--” 

“Ahh, busy, I get it, I get it! Getting action on the first date, good for you, Fitz. I expect full details later, you hear!” 

“Hunter, why are you calling?” 

“I don’t know, life’s been a little slow since my computer’s out of action -- that Demova virus, you know--” 

“Hunter, you’re a genius!” Fitz shouted, ending the call before his friend could reply. “Guys, I have an idea.” 

May caught his hands as he reached for the laptop. “You have no training with demolitions. This is not a video game.” 

“Look, we sell these laptops at the Buy More. It has an override which I should be able to activate.” There were thirty seconds left. He looked up at Jemma pleadingly. “You have to let me try, or we all die, Jemma.” 

“He’s our best shot, May,” Jemma said, and May released his hand. “Twelve seconds, Fitz.” 

Fitz cracked his neck and knuckles. “Mr. Bomb, meet Mr. Internet.” He pulled up a browser - _Internet Explorer, for Christ’s sake_ \- and typed Irene Demova in the search bar.

“Porn?” Jemma and May both snapped. 

“Don’t want to know how you both knew that,” Fitz muttered, clicking on the top result, Demova’s website, then squeezed his eyes shut -- out of fear both of seeing something on the website and of his probable imminent explosion. 

But the explosion never came. Demova emitted alarming moaning noises for a few seconds before the virus took effect, frying the computer, which let off a series of sparks. The screen shut down -- and so too did the timer wired to the bomb. Fitz squinted through one eye. 

“Fitz, you did it!” Jemma cried, squeezing his shoulder. 

“I did it,” Fitz breathed, looking up at her, then back at the bomb. “I defused a real bomb. I just -- did that with my bare hands-- Why are neither of you excited?! Oh god, what if I was wrong?” He felt suddenly quite nauseous. 

“Don’t puke on the C4, kid,” May said before standing up and walking away. Jemma rolled her eyes and followed. 

Fitz found them outside the hotel, arguing in the street. 

“He’s coming with me, May. S.H.I.E.L.D. can help him. The Intersect was Fury’s project originally. What if this wasn’t a fluke?” 

“What if it was? As I recall S.H.I.E.L.D. also _lost_ the Intersect. The ATCU can control him, make sure he doesn’t hurt anybody.” 

“What if he can stop something bigger? Think about the lives he could save.” 

“The ATCU will consider that, after he’s been thoroughly evaluated in a controlled environment. He’ll tell us what we need to know.” 

“May, we don’t even know how this works. No one but Fury and Will know anything about the Intersect. What triggers the memories? How does he make them stop? He could hurt himself, and the ATCU isn’t exactly known for its gentle treatment of its guests. Besides, this isn’t an ‘alien threat’.” 

“Alien in the sense of foreign, unfamiliar, dangerous -- yes, I think it is.” 

“What about his job, his friends? What do we tell his sister?” 

“What about Daisy?” Fitz said, coming abreast of them. 

“Nothing, Fitz, we were just discussing--” 

“No, that’s non-negotiable. I get that there’s something going on here that’s out of my control, but my friends, my family -- they aren’t part of this. You leave them alone.” He’d thought about this carefully, and this was the only way he could see things working. 

“We’ll see,” May said, without expression, though Jemma looked impressed by his certainty.

“No, we will not _see_. That's how it's going to be. Will sent that email to me. I’m the one with the secrets in my head, remember? Which means I’m the only one who knows if there is or is not about to be an explosion, an attack, an assassination. You need to me to see and interpret the flashes. So you have to listen to me, both of you. And right now... I’m going home.” It wasn’t the dramatic final line he’d been aiming for, but screw it. 

Once he’d gone a couple blocks, though, he found he didn’t want to go home. He wasn’t ready to face Hunter, who would undoubtedly have fallen asleep on Daisy’s couch waiting up for Fitz to come back from his date; he didn’t know how he would explain the evening to Daisy or Trip. And he certainly knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. So instead of hailing a cab, he walked west, away from the first pink streaks of sunlight, until he hit the empty beach. He sat with his Chucks still on in the soft part of the sand, above the tideline, watching the Pacific change color as the sun rose behind him. 

Not long after dawn, he heard someone walking through the shifting sand. Jemma came up level with him. She still wore the same outfit from the night before, though she carried her boots in one hand and walked barefoot. She looked down at him, smiling slightly. 

“Hi, Fitz.” 

“How long have you been here?” Fitz asked. 

“All night.” She sat down beside him, tucking her legs up under her, leaning slightly so that her shoulder just brushed his. 

“I've been running the scenarios in my head, but I just -- There’s nowhere I can run, is there?” 

“Not from us. I’m sorry.” 

He looked away, down the shore. 

“Say something, Fitz. Please.” 

“Yesterday I was making $11 an hour fixing computers. Now I have one in my brain. And I can’t figure out why Will did this, why he chose me. What am I now? Am I human? I'm -- I'm broken, now. I’m damaged, Jemma.” He couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice any longer. 

“Fitz, I’ve only known you a few days, but I don’t think you’ve changed. I’ve read your MIT record and some of your research. You were brilliant before -- you practically had a computer in your head already. Things now are just a little more...complicated.” 

“Do you actually have a PhDs, or was that part of your cover?” 

“I actually have _two_ PhDs,” she smiled. “But you won’t find any record of them, or of me.” 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Right.” He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on one of them. “What are you going to do with me?” 

“For now...” She sighed. “You’ll go back to your life. We’ll protect you. But you’ll work with us. You have to, Fitz. I’m afraid that’s not up for discussion.” 

He nodded. “And my sister? My friends? Are they in danger?” 

“Tell them nothing. That’s the best way to keep them safe.” 

She hadn’t answered his question, he noted. 

Sure enough, Daisy was frantic when he arrived home to their shared apartment. Hunter was practically dancing, convinced Fitz had gotten lucky. Fitz gave them both giant hugs -- as giant as he could, being smaller than both of them -- before shutting his door on their questions and collapsing on his bed. 

He thought back to the final part of his conversation on the beach with Jemma Simmons, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and superspy. 

“I have one last request, Fitz. One more thing I need you to do for me.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s that then? Steal the Declaration of Independence?” 

“Trust me.” She bumped his shoulder, and he had to catch himself with one hand to keep from falling over entirely. 

_Trust me._ Maybe Fitz had watched too many spy movies, but he had a feeling that the only people who asked you to trust them were the ones giving you reasons to do anything but. 

_Don’t freak out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, guys, writing this was exhausting.
> 
> First of all, it takes forever to watch the episode and keep pausing it so that you can write scenes and dialogue that accurately reflect the source... But you don't want it to be too exact because it's an AU, a combination, and the AOS characters act differently than the Chuck characters do. Plus so much of TV is visual and won't transfer to written descriptions as well/with the same impact.
> 
> Plus there's so much about Sarah Walker that Jemma would not be -- I tried to bring some of Jemma into the Sarah character here, and same with Fitz. But it was a struggle! As many parallels as there are between the shows, Jemma and Fitz have an entirely different relationship that was hard to bring across within the context of Chuck and Sarah.
> 
> I made some particular character choices, as in who matches up with whom across the fandoms -- some people you meet here, and some you might meet in the future -- feel free to ask me if you are curious about any of them!
> 
> But what I'm really interested in is advice on how to do this moving forward. I'm not happy with this chapter, but I needed to birth it and get it out of mind. I would love to continue in a way that is less stressful for me but also more true to both the source and the AOS characters. If you have thoughts on how to do this, especially if you've done AU adaptations like this in the past and have advice on how to not go line-by-line in recreating it, I would love love love your input, whether in the comments below or in a private message on Tumblr. (I'm grapehyasynth there as well!)
> 
> So don't expect this to update regularly... And if anyone is interested in co-authoring and doing some chapters, hit me up! Let's make this clunky thing work together. :)


	2. Fitz vs. The Helicopter: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz meets with a government scientist who may be able to remove the Intersect from his head but suddenly finds himself unsure which of his handlers to trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splitting this episode into two parts because I was 20 minutes in and already had 17 pages... So cliffhanger of sorts, yay!!! 
> 
> This was a lot more fun to write than the first one, so I'll try to turn them out more regularly. :)
> 
> For the record, I'm a Philinda shipper but also really dig Coulsalind and it just makes more sense within the Chuck verse ;) Sorry kids!

Fitz had had a stressful morning. Agent Melinda May of the ATCU was not only watching his every move but had taken a job at the Buy More as part of her cover. And on her very first day, when a shoplifter attempted to make off with three copies of the last season of Game of Thrones, she chased him across the parking lot and tackled him to the ground. Fitz almost got hit by three cars in his pursuit of her - sprinting was not an easy feat in slacks and a pressed button-up and a tie, mind you - and he made it to her only just in time to keep her from punching the thief's face in. They were probably already facing a lawsuit as it was. 

“May! Lives are not in danger! The country is still safe!” he panted. She turned to glare at him and he quickly released her fist, which he’d grabbed in midair. 

Hunter skidded to a halt, colliding with Fitz, and they both leaned over, hands on their knees as they caught their breath. “May’s been here all of two hours and she’s already taking the job way too seriously,” Hunter muttered to Fitz. 

“That’s because she’s insane,” Fitz snapped pointedly so May could hear. 

May hauled the shoplifter up by his collar and yanked his arm behind his back. “You two should work out more. Or, at all.” 

Hunter followed her and the thief back to the store, taunting him with what he probably thought were witty barbs. Fitz stooped to pick up the DVDs which were still scattered across the pavement, and as he straightened, he saw the door to the Wienerlicious across the lot open. 

Out stepped Agent Jemma Simmons, wearing the hot dog restaurant’s signature - and questionably objectifying - uniform of a low-cut white top and red skirt that ended just above the knees and cinched her waist with a tight black wrap in a way that had to be uncomfortable (but was admittedly quite flattering). She appeared entirely innocuous in her black flats and pigtails high on the back of her head, and as she looked up from collecting leftover wrappers off the picnic tables and caught Fitz looking at her, she greeted him with a shy smile and little wave that made him feel goofy and giddy and dirty all at the same time. 

He could almost forget for a second that she was a highly trained operative and that yesterday, when she’d come to the Buy More under the pretense of installing a new sound system in her living room, the Intersect - the computer basically embedded in his brain now - had flashed him images of Jemma in a trench coat and wig taking down four men much larger than her. 

He could _almost_ forget. 

Fitz wanted anything but to walk into the Wienerlicious, but part of Jemma’s cover was as his girlfriend (yeah, like anyone would believe that), and it would certainly look suspicious if they just waved at each other across the parking lot and left it at that, especially since they were supposedly in the first love-struck days of their relationship. 

She barely glanced around when the chimes on the door clinked, probably because she was fighting a small fire that had started on what had once been onions. 

“They don’t teach you that in spy school?” 

“Didn’t come up,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Remind me why you’re working here?” 

“Surveillance,” she said irritatedly, as if this wasn’t their first conversation about it, swiping the charred onions off the grill into a trash can. “I can monitor the Buy More while you work. It’s just a cover.” 

“Right. Part of the plan.” Fitz put his hands on his hips, looking around the little wiener shop, complete with red and yellow wallpapering - the better to hide ketchup and mustard flung by excitable children and angsty teens, he assumed. “There is a plan, right, Jemma? I mean, I’m sure making gourmet hot dogs is a nice vacation for you but it seems a bit of a waste of your talents, and May isn’t exactly a natural-born appliance saleswoman, and I’m sure the national security chieftains or whatever they call themselves aren’t particularly thrilled about their secrets being locked in my head, so... tell me that you have a plan?” 

“We have a plan,” she said with a tight smile, leaning into the counter across from him, the onions conquered. “There’s someone who can help. We can discuss it further tonight. How about another date? I can pick you up at 8.” 

She said it so casually, like Fitz was used to going out to dinner with intelligent, beautiful women every other night. He was suddenly wishing he’d run a comb through his curls or...something. 

“Yeah. Yes. Right. I would ... like that. Soooounds good. I’ll see y - Great.” He spun, still mumbling, and made a speedy exit, a blush rising to his cheeks. 

That afternoon, after work, Daisy caught him looking through his dozens of almost indistinguishable button-ups that had been fashionable about ten years prior, if that. Needless to say she put two and two together - she was a doctor, after all - and forced him to accept her help. 

“Second date’s a big deal, Fitz!” she practically squealed, holding two different sleeves to his cheeks as if to determine whether he had more a winter or spring skin tone. 

“Ah, we’ll see,” he muttered. Was it really a big deal when your date was a cover intended to remove government secrets from your brain? 

“Are you joking, mate?” Hunter laughed from where he was sprawled across Fitz’s bed. “Jemma’s a looker. Not my type, but... she’s a catch. And the first shirt looked better with your skintone.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Hold up,” Daisy interrupted. “ _Hunter_ has met her and I haven’t?” 

“Well-”

“We have a bond, Dais. It’s a mano-a-mano thing. We tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets - which you could too, now that I think of it.”

“Here’s one,” Daisy said without turning to him. “I loathe you.”

“That’s not a secret,” Fitz corrected. Hunter just grinned dopily at Daisy’s back. 

“Well, you may have the bro code, but Fitz and I are family.” 

“Only by law-”

“Dinner, tomorrow, here. I’m meeting her.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter said, sitting up. “Give the man time to take down his Doctor Who poster. Not exactly an aphrodisiac, that.” 

“Maybe not for the girls you date,” Fitz muttered. 

Daisy just punched Hunter in the arm as she left the room. 

“Right, I’ll clear my schedule,” he grunted, rubbing the spot. 

 

_National Security Directorate, Washington, D.C._

“Our most valuable secrets have been sent to an idiot.” 

Director Coulson looked up from his folder at Rosalind Price, head of the ATCU. She was watching that video again, the security footage from the Buy More in which Leopold Fitz could clearly be seen waving a red tablecloth around so that his friend, Hunter, would charge it like a bull. “At least they weren’t sent to his friend?” 

“Operation Fitz. I can’t believe this.” Rosalind sat back in her chair. 

“I spoke with Agent Simmons,” Coulson reassured her. “She’ll deliver Fitz to the rendezvous site tonight, as agreed.” 

“Good. Doctor Whitehall is on his way. He’s the ATCU’s top scientist.” 

“No match for Agent Simmons, before she went into the field.” 

“That may be, but neuroscience was never her specialty. Unless you want her to start playing with Fitz’s mind more than she already is?” 

Coulson gave her a look. “Really, Roz?” 

“He’s putty in her hands, Phil.” 

“May’s not bad herself.” To an onlooker, it would certainly seem strange that they were flirting by complimenting the competition’s agents. To them, it was practically foreplay. “I just hope Whitehall can fix this.” 

 

_Burbank, California_

Fitz was on the curb outside their apartment complex twenty minutes before 8, just to be sure. He had to keep wiping his palms on his jeans - he’d decided on jeans rather than dress pants, didn’t want to seem too eager about the date, cover or otherwise - and spent the whole time tucking and untucking his shirt. 

“Untucked,” he decided, just as Jemma pulled up in her excessively nice car. 

Fitz leaned on the doorframe, looking in. She was wearing a little black dress and a long silver necklace which disappeared between her breasts and suddenly Fitz was wishing he’d gone with the dress pants. “Wienerlicious pays well, does it?” he asked, to cover his sudden jitters as he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “So what’s the itinerary? Dinner, movie?” 

“Not exactly.” 

Twenty minutes later they pulled up next to the Buy More. Fitz squinted at the giant yellow letters on the sign of the building, then turned just his head to look at Jemma. “Is this some sort of weird fetish? ‘Cause-” 

She had already gotten out of the car and he scurried to follow her. The doors would normally be locked at that hour, but they slid open before them, a gust of air conditioning reminding Fitz just how much he was sweating. 

“There’s a doctor coming to see you. He was one of the specialists involved in the encoding for the Intersect, the computer in your head. He’s coming to examine you.” 

“Hmm. Yeah, okay.” Fitz looked down at his Chucks on the scuffed linoleum floor. “Does this ... examination require, er, needles? Or probing? Or -” He gulped. “Am I going to have to have blood drawn?” 

“He’s our best chance at helping you, Fitz,” Jemma said gently, stepping forward to touch his arm in reassurance, a gesture that seemed slightly off, like she’d seen it in a movie but had never done it herself. “Together, we can get the secrets out of your head. We can fix this.” 

“Together. Right.” 

She gave him a slight smile and squeezed his arm before continuing down the aisle towards the back of the store. 

“You know, you never answered my question about the needles-” he called after her as he hurried to follow. 

In the home theater room, Jemma pointed Fitz to the sunken couch and pulled the curtains shut across the windows. _Not exactly the intimate date I was expecting, but..._ Fitz thought as he put on the headset she offered him. 

“As the images come across the screen, you are to tell us what you see. Quite simple really,” she said brightly. 

“I’m sure he’ll find a way to screw it up,” May said from the doorway, where she had appeared as suddenly as ever. “The doctor’s here,” she said shortly to Jemma. 

“Should I go meet him?” Fitz asked nervously, half-rising from the couch, but Jemma pressed him down again by his shoulder. 

“Unfortunately it’s important that he doesn’t see you, Fitz. He’s here to help, but too many people know your identity already as it is. He’ll know you only as Patient X. You’re just too valuable.” 

“Thanks,” Fitz said as they both exited. “I’d be flattered if that wasn’t the most terrifyingly ominous thing I’ve ever heard.” 

When they closed the door, the room fell into almost complete darkness. Fitz rubbed his hands on his legs, looking up at the ceiling, into the corners of the room, wondering suddenly if there were cameras everywhere. 

After a few minutes, a man’s voice came through on Fitz’s headset, calm and precise and with an undertone of something just slightly too persuasive. 

“After the tone, the test will begin. Tell me what you see.” 

Fitz began to relax. He had always excelled at tests. 

“Uh, dog,” he said carefully, as a border collie appeared on the screen of the TV in front of the couch. “Hippopotamus. Spok. Ugly building. Erm - beautiful woman at the beach - I’m sure she’s got a great personality too-” 

“Stick to basic descriptors, please,” said the voice. 

But then a picture of a rose appeared, and the flashes started -- programming code, the White House, jack-o-lantern -- and Fitz was talking before he could stop himself. The information flowed from him as if he’d always known it. “Cardinal One is the top Moscow spy in the White House office of-” Sphinx, gun. “The plot to assassinate President Carter was orchestrated by-” The Space Needle, airplane. “Oceanic Flight 815 was shot down by-” Crowd, dinosaur skeleton, clown fish. “The work on the subterranean project was-” The reflecting pool, unmarked door, a surfer, the Pope, tattoo, sailboat, cat sitting on a laptop, elephant, chicken on a grill. “-have been approved by the DNC, RNC, and CIA-” 

“Well, that’s just a picture of a turtle,” he said uncertainly after what seemed an eternity of not blinking. 

The man on the other side of the headset clicked off, and Fitz groaned, his head falling forward into his hands. “Why couldn’t I at least get some Scottish secrets?” he muttered as he rubbed his aching eyes. 

Jemma drove Fitz home. He felt too drained to even attempt to make the chatter he normally passed off as flirting, and she let them sit in silence. It was only once they pulled back up outside the apartment complex that he asked, “So, did I pass?” 

“You were extraordinary, Fitz,” Jemma smiled. 

“And this doctor, he’ll fix me?” He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

“He’s hopeful. Science is on our side.” 

“Right. Forgot you were a fellow member of our noble ranks.” He scratched his nose, but his mind couldn’t extend the conversation any further, so he unbuckled and was halfway out of the car before he tipped awkwardly back into his seat to add, “Almost forgot - my sister Daisy invited you to dinner, tomorrow night. I told her it’d be weird, but -” 

“No, it’s a good idea,” Jemma nodded. 

“Meeting the family’s a big step, you know? If our relationship were, well, real.” She frowned slightly and looked down into her lap, so he changed tact. “If this examination, this procedure, if it’s successful, then we’re through, right?” 

“Yes. That’s how a cover works, Fitz.” 

“Cool. Cool cool cool. Good night, Jemma.” He walked to the front gate kicking himself for every stupid thing he’d said - every single thing, if he was being honest - and turned back to find her still watching him. Surprised, he gave her a little wave, which she returned with a smile. “Christ, Fitz, get yourself together,” he muttered as he turned around once more. 

 

The next morning, Fitz was lacing up his Chucks as he waited for Hunter when Daisy came into the room, still dressed in her scrubs from a night shift. “Hey, Fitz, I, uh - well -” 

She handed him the morning’s newspaper. Under the top headline, “TOP NASA SCIENTIST DIES IN ROBBERY”, was plastered a picture of Will Daniels, looking as dashing as ever in a suit and tie. 

“I wasn’t sure if you knew, but-” 

“No, I didn’t,” Fitz said, perhaps a touch too quickly. He took the paper from her and rose, turning away so he could have a minute to hide the many different emotions with which he was grappling. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently behind him.

“I don’t know, Daisy,” he sighed. “I spent so much time hating Will for having me kicked out of MIT, but - He was still my best friend at some point. It’s hard to be mad at him now, I suppose.” 

“I’m sorry, bud,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, but she left him alone, knowing this wasn’t the moment to press. 

 

Agents Simmons and May were grappling with their own brand of tragedy. Sometime in the night, as Doctor Whitehall had driven away from Burbank, his car had exploded on the side of a deserted highway. Soldiers and forensic specialists reached the scene before the two operatives, who circled the car, looking for clues only they would be able to discern. 

“I guess those secrets are staying with Fitz,” Jemma heard May say into her phone. 

Jemma glanced at the other agent, then knelt on her side of the vehicle, lifting aside a hubcap which had flown in the explosion. Underneath lay the charred remnants of a burner phone. Jemma lifted it gingerly and tucked it into the inside pocket of her jacket before straightening, dusting her hands on her pants and striding to meet May at the front of the car. 

“No sign of anything here,” she said calmly, meeting May’s gaze. 

“Guess we’re sending the good doctor home in an ashtray,” said May, meeting her calmness with a stoicness to be envied. 

“Okay, well, if that’s all, there are hot dogs to be fried.” 

“And toasters to be sold.” 

They looked at each other for a second in wary silence before Jemma nodded, smiled, and slipped past May towards her car. Once inside, she deposited the burnt phone into a plastic evidence bag and set it on top of the picture of Will Daniels looking up from the newspaper on her passenger seat. 

Back by the wreckage, May returned to her phone call. “Smells like S.H.I.E.L.D. to me.” 

“Keep your eye on Agent Simmons,” Rosalind Price replied. “And don’t let Fitz out of your sight. He could be next.” 

 

May had been back at the Buy More for mere seconds before she’d found Fitz - how did she always sneak up like that?? - grabbing him by the elbow as he walked past with Hunter. “You can’t trust Jemma,” she hissed.

“Fitz!” called a voice behind them all. 

“Mr. T!” they all said in unison, quickly turning to face Glenn Talbot, their overeager and yet somehow simultaneously incompetent store manager. 

“Thought you were taking May through the customer service training today, Fitz,” Talbot remarked, stroking his significant mustache. 

“Yeees.” Just what he needed, more time alone with the terrifying Agent May. “Right this way, Melinda - Can I call you Melinda?” 

“Not if you like your toes,” she ground out as she followed him Nerd Herd station. 

“This,” he said loudly, aware that Talbot was watching them, “is the hand-held scanner. Very expensive piece of equipment-”

“So is the Zephyr, but somehow I managed to fly that,” May said quietly. 

“Don’t know what that is, but I’m assuming it’s fully weaponized,” Fitz muttered. “And the scanner, or gun, as we call it, works like a-”

“Gun?” May suggested. 

“Uh-huh. Pew pew,” Fitz said weakly, pretending to shoot May. He colored and pointed it instead at the roll of stickers in his hand. “It beeps when you scan the barcodes, see.” 

“Shame it doesn’t scream out loud. I’d be right at home.” May took the scanner away from him, stepping forward so she was just in front of him, her heeled boots enabling her to look down at him just slightly. She glanced over his head, then grabbed him by the collar and stuck the scanner up beneath his chin, forcing his face up. “Listen to me, Fitz. No more private meetings with Jemma. Got it?” 

“Is there - is there a problem?” Fitz gasped. 

“No problems. Only solutions.” May squeezed the trigger on the scanner so it beeped against Fitz’s Adam’s apple, then released him. 

“Well, that certainly sounds like the Buy More customer policy. Surprised you remembered that. Not that - not that I’m doubting your intelligence, or-”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A message from Jemma: _Fitz, I need you at Wienerlicious, ASAP._ He deleted it before May could see, saying quickly and loudly - safety in numbers, right? - “You know what we should do? Role-playing! To work on your attitude. Which is lovely, if you’re invading some poor country the US has decided it’s going to take over, but here at the Buy More, uh-- Hunter?” he called, waving behind him. “Hunter, can you come run Melinda through some scenarios? You play the shopper, Melinda will be the sales rep - I’ll, uh, go check in with Mr. T., see what he’s up to-” 

He darted away before May could find some reason to keep him. He ducked into a side aisle, sprinted along it at a crouch, then dashed down to the entrance and out into the parking lot. 

At Wienerlicious, a gaggle of pimply adolescents were plastered to the front counter, sipping milkshakes as they ogled Jemma, bent over as she was to pull out a new box of paper bags. Fitz glared at them as he waited for them to receive their completed orders. Jemma, for her part, delivered the wieners with a blinding smile, though she rolled her eyes at Fitz as the group of boys (and a few girls, Fitz noted) dispersed, giggling to each other and leaving the restaurant empty except for Jemma and Fitz. 

“Fitz, thank you for coming so quickly. I can’t have you meeting with May anymore unless I’m present, do you understand me?” 

“No, frankly, Jemma, I do not understand you,” he said grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest, then giving up on that when his pocket protector -- mandatory part of the uniform, mind -- scratched his arm. “What is with the two of you? Competing agencies, I get it, but-” 

“The doctor from last night was killed in an explosion soon after he left us,” Jemma interrupted him calmly.

Fitz felt all the blood drain from his face. “The doctor who was supposed to fix me?” he asked faintly. 

Jemma glanced out the front window before pulling a bag out from under the counter. “Can you identify this, Fitz?” 

He picked up the burnt phone and wrinkled his nose. “A nasty-” 

But the flashes hit then. Buffalo, nuclear explosion, cell phone, wiring, mountain- “ATCU incinerator. Special issue. Designed to eliminate all biological traces.” He dropped the phone back onto the counter and looked up at Jemma, mouth open. “That’s what killed the doctor?” 

“And guess who works for the ATCU,” Jemma said, leaning forward conspiratorially. (Though wasn’t everything a spy did conspiratorial, really?)

“Why - why would May-”

“She’s a killer, Fitz, it’s what she does for a living. Years ago, when she worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., she had a nickname, the Cavalry. Because when things went wrong, Agent Melinda May would be called in to clean up the job.” She slipped the phone back under the counter. “She threatened to kill us, lest you’ve forgotten, and she’ll probably do it again. Maybe it was orders, maybe she didn’t like the way Whitehall looked at her.” 

“Wow, thank you, Agent Simmons, for that wonderful pep talk, I feel much better now, much more comfortable-”

“Fitz, you need to go back in there and pretend that you know nothing. You can do that much, I believe in you.” 

“Right, I exude vibes of incompetence, I’d forgotten.” He ignored her exasperated huff and rolled his head to crack his neck. “I know nothing. I know nothing. I know nothing. Got it.” 

Fitz found May less than a minute away from snapping Hunter’s spine. 

“One more time, Melinda. I asked,” and here Hunter put on a surfer-dude American accent, “‘Do you have any Ramones, dude?’ And _you_ say...”

May crossed her arms and stared at Hunter. 

“May, the correct response,” Fitz said carefully, moving around her in a circle just out of her reach, “Is, ‘Can we order you some?’”

“Ramones, man, Ramones-” Hunter repeated, before May planted a hand on his face and shoved him so that he fell and skidded several yards down the aisle. 

“That’s a no, then?” he called. 

“See, that’s definitely not in the customer service manual,” Fitz muttered, but May grabbed him by his tie. 

“So what did you and Jemma chat about?” 

“Wha- I just stepped out for a breath of-”

“I know you went to see her, it’s what I do for a living, Fitz.” Jemma’s words echoed in his mind, that it was really killing May did for a living. 

May gave him a long, calculating stare, before releasing him. He stumbled backwards just as Hunter shouted, “Wait, I found it! Ramones, bottom shelf!” 

But Fitz was too busy panicking about why May was barreling for the exit. 

 

Jemma waited for the last customer to leave before meeting May’s glare. 

“What did you tell him?” May asked, beginning to walk predatorily across the restaurant. 

“That you’re a cold-blooded killer. Was I lying?” Jemma asked calmly. She cursed the pigtails - though required for the job, they made it much harder to seem intimidating. 

“No.” May smiled slightly. “But the way I see it, the only two people who knew Whitehall’s movements are right here.” 

Jemma, her back to May, picked up a pair of wooden wiener skewers from the counter, holding them so May couldn’t see. 

“Since I didn’t kill Whitehall, you’re under arrest-” May began, pulling a tiny gun from inside her boot, but Jemma had an element of surprise: the first skewer she threw caught May right in her gun hand, and May gasped in pain as Jemma rolled across the counter, flinging the next skewer, which May only just managed to block with a plastic serving tray seconds before it would have caught her in the face. 

Jemma kicked the gun out of May’s hand, but May caught her with a punch to the stomach as she landed. Jemma’s next slap set May back a step, but she charged back with a knife pulled from one of who knew how many hidden places. Agent Melinda May was a legend, but Jemma was a devoted student, and since her transition into the field, she’d rapidly climbed in prestige and acclaim. So it was a tight fight. Jemma dipped under May’s swings, May caught Jemma’s punches before they could land; Jemma knocked the knife from May’s fist but May finally landed a kick that sent Jemma stumbling back into a table. Jemma took the opportunity to break in half a mop that stood against the wall. Swinging the stick, she cracked down on May’s hand before she could retrieve her fallen knife. May took up a chair as her weapon instead, and with it forced the broken mop from Jemma’s grip. Jemma spun away from the swinging chair in time to kick May back over the counter and once again across the face as May tried to rise. Jemma crouched on the counter, knowing better than to expect the Cavalry to stay down that easily, but the door chimed as a customer came in - it was those same kids from earlier, and in the time it took to glance at their gawping faces, May had escaped through the back exit. 

 

Fitz was still pondering the many painful ways Agents Simmons and May could be killing each other at this precise moment when Billy Koenig sauntered up to him, a sheaf of papers in hand. 

“Mr. Fitz, Code Zebra,” he said dramatically. When Fitz looked nonplussed, Koenig sighed with the burden of the eternally underappreciated. “Linux install, factory in Ventura, 142 Euclid.” He dropped the papers in front of Fitz and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Um, Billy? Why can’t you and Sam go?” 

Billy laughed until he wheezed. “Linux? PCs? Please. We are Mac guys, Fitz. IT artists. Respect the craft, man.” 

Fitz stared at him, mouth slightly agape, then gave up. “Yeah, right. Got it. Uh, I’ll be back in half an hour. Tell May I’m on my cell.” He grabbed the keys to the Nerdmobile, still shaking his head. 

 

When Fitz pulled up at 142 Euclid, it was clearly not a factory. If anything it looked like a hippie commune. Frowning, he picked up the paperwork - maybe Billy had had the number wrong? Wouldn’t be the first time - when something hit Fitz’s car from behind, a gentle but sudden bump that jerked him forward. 

“Bloody asshole-” Fitz grumbled, but before he could turn, his phone rang. “May, I’m not with Jemma, I just stepped out for a home install-” 

“Pull over,” May snarled. 

“I can’t, didn’t you hear me? A home install, at -”

“142 Euclid? Guess who called that in.” 

Twisting in his seat, his heart dropped as he saw Agent May sitting in the driver’s seat of the giant black SUV now pressed against his bumper. 

“It was you!” Fitz gasped. “You killed Doctor Whitehall. Now you’re here to kill me!” If that sentence ended with his voice in a squeak, who could blame him? 

Completely ignoring the red light, Fitz slammed on the gas and sped around the corner, nearly colliding with a passing car. He careened between lanes, knowing the tiny Nerdmobile was no match for the SUV in a head-to-head race. “I have much too much knowledge about physics to be comfortable with this insanity!” he shouted into the noise of their screeching tires.mHe made to turn right, then, doubting his knowledge of that part of Ventura, tried to go left, but the SUV caught the rear of his car, and he spun into a series of donuts. By the time he got the car back under control, May had pulled up across the street. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he shouted as he scrambled out of the car. _Wrong question_ , he thought as May jumped down from the SUV and strode through traffic towards him. “What -” He hurried around to the far side of the car, putting the Nerdmobile between them. He gestured to the bruises on May’s face and a bandage wrapped around her hand. “What happened to you?”

“Your girlfriend happened.” 

“Jemma? Cover girlfriend, I might add-”

“She’s rogue,” May cut him off. “She killed the doctor, then she tried to kill me.” 

“Is she okay?” 

“I’m great, thanks for asking.” May stopped in front of the car, clasping her hands behind her. 

“Why should I believe you?” Fitz demanded, voice still slightly higher than usual. “She showed me the bomb!” 

“ATCU incinerator, right?” May scoffed. “It’s a nice explosive, one of my favorites, as Jemma well knows. Also easily purchased on the black market. What do you really know about Jemma, Fitz? Think. She’s S.H.I.E.L.D. She worked with Daniels. He was rogue, what’s to say she’s not too?” 

“No no no,” Fitz whispered, shaking his head. 

“She found you in Burbank but couldn’t take you because I was around. So she bided her time until she had a chance. Whitehall threatened to mess that up for her. Take the secrets out of your head and she loses the Intersect. So she had to act fast.” 

Fitz’s phone rang. With trembling hands he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Jemma. 

May grabbed the phone from him and hit the red ‘decline’ button. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him towards the SUV. 

As they climbed in, a phone started ringing again. “Thought I turned that off,” May said.

“It’s not me,” Fitz shot back defensively. “Is it yours?” 

They looked at each other in a moment of instant understanding before craning around to see the burner phone vibrating on the back seat. 

“NSA incinerator!” Fitz yelped. “Run!” 

He was still yelling as he chased May back across the street to the Nerdmobile. They reached it, Fitz panting, May looking unruffled, and turned to look at the SUV. One beat, two, three, and the car was still intact. Fitz slumped forward and May said, “Are you sure it was-” 

The SUV exploded in an orange fireball that, even at that distance, knocked them both over. 

“Still think it was me?” May asked, looking up at the smoky sky. 

Fitz pushed himself up, wiping the pebbles of asphalt out of the scratches on his hands. “Why would Jemma do this?” 

“She’s cleaning the operation. Eliminating everyone she’s coming in contact with.” May helped him to his feet. “I have to admit, even for S.H.I.E.L.D., this is dark.”

“We have to get back to my house!” Fitz gasped, remembering suddenly the dinner date for which he was already late and imagining Trip helping Daisy as she stress-cooked, determined to make the dinner perfect; Hunter munching on the appetizers before they even went into the oven; and Jemma, super-spy-assassin, showing up at their door. 

“Too late, you’re on the next plane to Washington,” May said, already dialing a number. 

“But my sister!” 

“Doesn’t have a supercomputer in her brain. You’re the priority.” She turned away, speaking into the phone. “It’s May. Put me through to Ms. Price.” 

Fitz, seeing his opportunity, ran for the Nerdmobile as fast as his little legs would carry him, grey Buy More tie flapping as he sprinted. “Fitz, no!” May yelled, running to catch him, but he was already in and speeding away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments -- I love Kudos but I check my email religiously for comments. :) They make my day! Compliments, suggestions, tips, wishes -- all welcomed!! 
> 
> Also, if anyone ever wants to create additional gifsets/manips to go with this, that would be super cool... Like if someone wanted to make a vid imitating the style of the opening credits of Chuck (have to go a few episodes in, didn't start right away) but with AOS clips, that'd be dope...
> 
> Also also, find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well!


	3. Fitz vs. The Helicopter: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off: Fitz, having recently determined that Jemma is a double-agent trying to kill him and May, rushes home, where she is about to have dinner with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BACK BIATCHES!!! Sorry for taking forever to update, but as I mentioned this fic had been stressful and time-consuming. I think I've found a new method that's gonna make it a lot more pleasurable and will be more focused on FitzSimmons, which lbr is why we're all here. But that's going to start next chapter -- this one, as it's a continuation of the previous chapter, still sticks really closely to the source material. So please ride this one out and then look for more frequent and more original updates to come!!!!!!

Sure enough, Jemma had already arrived. She was sharing a round of beers with Trip, Hunter, and Daisy, and she looked lovely as always in a tame argyle sweater. She rose from the armrest of a chair as he burst through the door.

“Took your time then, didn’t you, mate?” Hunter called.

“Fitz! Where have you been?” Jemma asked.

“Why? You surprised to see me?” Fitz said quietly through tight lips.

“What?” She tilted her head at him as he widened his eyes at her. “Where’s May, Fitz?”

“I don’t know, maybe she’s having some... _car trouble_?” He stepped around her, not waiting for her reaction, and rushed to Daisy’s side. “You okay?”

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Dude, what’s wrong with you? And you’re covered in shit.” She swiped at his shirt. “Jemma’s been super mean to me, Fitz.”

“What?” He looked between them, then realized Daisy was grinning. “Oh. Right. Well, glad everyone’s getting along so swimmingly-”

“Your sister is wonderful, Fitz,” Jemma said warmly, stepping towards him.

“Indeed!” Trip seconded, raising his beer as if for a toast.

“You know what we should do to celebrate all these good feelings?” Fitz was floundering, and he knew it, but he had to try. “Let’s go out for dinner! Someplace... public, with lots of... people, with whom to share our happiness--”

“Fitz, your sister has kinda been cooking all day,” Trip cut in.

“And it smells delicious,” Jemma added brightly.

“Mangia mangia!” This from Hunter, of course.

“Let’s eat, Fitz,” Daisy said, shooting him a funny look.

Fitz sat as far from Jemma as he could, though at the small table it was still much too close. He looked down at the food in front of them, suddenly running through the dozens of poisons which could easily be hidden there.

“So tell us something about yourself, girl,” Trip was saying to Jemma. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Well, I’m originally from Sheffield, though I’ve lived in DC for many years. I only just moved here.”

“Fitz had a friend in DC-” Trip began.

“Former friend,” Daisy and Hunter muttered at the same time, looking at each other in surprise.

“Former because he was a jerk,” Daisy offered.

“And he’s dead,” Hunter added around a mouthful of lasagna.

Fitz found it suddenly necessary to loosen his tie.

“The girl Fitz was dating before you? He stole her. Same guy.” Hunter raised his eyebrows at Jemma. “The hog face.”

“I just don’t know how anyone could choose Will over Fitz,” Daisy said, for the thousandth time. Sometimes Fitz was incredibly fond of his sister. “He-”

But the doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it. They all stopped eating to watch as she opened the door to reveal Agent May, still in her Buy More uniform and holding a tray of little pastries. Fitz stood automatically and Jemma too half-rose from her seat.

“Hi, I’m Melinda,” she said sweetly, with the first smile Fitz had seen on her - it was terrifying. “I just moved in upstairs and I thought I might bring something over, meet the neighbors, you know.”

Instantly charmed, Daisy accepted the tray from May and ushered her in. Hunter, seeing who it was, groaned but kept shoveling food in his mouth. Fitz slowly moved around the table to meet them in the middle of the room.

“Fitz, you should have told me to set out another chair,” Daisy scolded.

“May. Hello. Good to see you - sorry, Daisy, I completely forgot. Silly me. As usual.” Jemma was watching him, a curious look on her face. “This is Melinda May, we work at the Buy More together, we are... friends.” He hoped the word sounded less forced to the others than it did to his own ears.

“Don’t worry about the chair, I’ll go grab one, if Fitz will help me?” May glared at Fitz. 

“Can’t you carry it yourself?” Hunter called, but Fitz was already following her down the hall to his own room. 

May shut the door behind him and grabbed his collar. “Fitz, I know for a fact that Agent Jemma Simmons killed an entire dinner party with no noticeable traces several years ago in Paris.” 

“Poison?” Fitz gulped. 

“I don’t know, the case was closed. What do you know about Elana Truffaut?” 

Fitz flashed at once, getting images of Jemma in a fancy hotel surrounded by unfamiliar faces and then a second later those faces pale and distended, quite dead. 

“Poison,” he repeated in horrified confirmation. “She’s got PhDs, she’s more than capable--” 

He darted back out into the kitchen just as Daisy was setting out a chocolate souffle. “Jemma, this looks amazing.” 

“Oh, it’s store-bought,” Jemma said modestly, waving away the compliment. 

Fitz sagged against the arch of the doorway and exchanged a look with May. “Well, that’s a relief.” 

Jemma twisted in her chair to look at him. “Excuse me? You have _never_ tried my cooking, Fitz, how would you even know--”

“I didn’t mean--”

“--could be a regular Alton Brown for all you know--”

“--sure it’s fantastic--”

“Fitz!” Daisy scolded. “Seriously?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jemma said suddenly, standing. “Fitz and I were actually in the middle of an argument earlier and I think it’s best we go straighten that out so we don’t ruin your lovely dinner.” 

She grabbed his hand and hauled him down the hallway. He looked desperately at May over his shoulder but there was no way she could possibly impose on this alleged lovers’ spat without raising some truly strange questions among the others. 

As soon as the door was closed, Jemma slammed him up against it. Fitz grunted, both out of surprise that someone so small could be so strong -- though to be fair, he was hardly any larger than Jemma -- and because it was the second time in five minutes that these women were man-handling him. 

Then he thought about how the sound of a body hitting the door might sound to Daisy and Trip, both of whom had overactive imaginations when it came to Fitz’s love life, and he groaned. 

“What did May tell you?” Jemma demanded, her face very close to his. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, trying to avoid her gaze, but she pressed her forearm firmly into his neck and he spluttered, “They know you killed Whitehall.” 

She blinked and stepped back. Fitz slid down the door, rubbing his throat. 

“They’re blaming me for that?” 

He looked up at her. She seemed truly surprised. 

“Well, yeah, seeing as how you _did it_ ,” he snapped, pushing away from the door and trying to make himself appear larger. She didn’t notice. 

“Fitz, how could you honestly believe -- when I’ve never given you a reason to do anything but trust me--” 

“You’re a _spy_ , Jemma, a spy I just met like, two days ago, mind--” 

“A little louder, thanks, Fitz!” She whirled away from him, pressing a hand to her forehead. “If I didn’t kill Whitehall, and May didn’t kill Whitehall, then --” She suddenly stopped and turned slowly, her mouth slightly agape. “Oh dear.” 

He waited for an explanation but she grabbed the knob behind him and wrenched the door open, sending him tumbling forward as she darted out. “Stay here, Fitz!” 

He made it down the hall in time to hear her explain to Daisy and Trip, “I’m so, so sorry, but I’ve just gotten a rather urgent call -- family matters -- so dysfunctional -- if you’ll just excuse me--” 

They watched her leave with open mouths, then looked to Fitz as he followed her, then to May as she too rose and ran out the front door. 

May caught up with Fitz at the fountain in the courtyard and grabbed his arm. 

“May,” he panted, eyes very wide. “I think we might have been wrong about Jemma.” 

A scream cut the air from the front of the apartment complex. Fitz’s stomach dropped away and he ran as fast as he could -- easily outstripped by May -- to the street just as Jemma, a dart in her neck, was thrown into the trunk of a sleek black car. The trunk closed and a tall man with white hair and a too-slick smile that didn’t meet his eyes took them both in. 

“Sorry, Melinda,” the man said in the voice that had come to Fitz over the headphones in the Buy More home theater room.

Before either of them could move, he raised a gun and sent a dart into May’s upper arm. She collapsed against Fitz with a sharp cry of surprise. Fitz caught her as best he could and watched, helpless, as Doctor Whitehall -- for that was who it obviously was, very much not dead -- drove away. 

_I’m a threat too!_ Fitz almost yelled, irrationally bitter that Whitehall hadn’t even thought to take him out as well. 

“We might have been wrong about Simmons,” May said through gritted teeth as Fitz lowered her to the ground. 

“That -- that was Whitehall? You don’t think he -- faked his death? Oh, god, May, what--” 

“Pull the dart out.” 

“Wha?” he spluttered. “Oh, no, I would really love to help you, I truly would, but you see I’ve never been particularly fond of needles, nor bodily fluids, and--” 

“Just do it, you idiot,” she hissed, gripping the back of his neck rather painfully with her good hand. 

Fitz squinted so that his eyes were as far shut as he could make them while still seeing what he was doing, then gripped the dart between his thumb and middle finger and pulled. A prick of blood appeared immediately on May’s sleeve, and Fitz rolled away, feeling nauseous. 

“That should have kept enough of the toxin out of my system that it won’t knock me out,” May said, examining the spot. “But you’re going to have to drive.” 

“What is he going to do to Jemma?” 

“Torture her until she tells him everything about you.” May stared at him impassively. 

“Torture -- bloody hell, May, we’ve got to find her!” 

“You’re just full of bright ideas. Help me into the car.” 

He supported her into the passenger seat of the Nerdmobile and ran to the other side, starting the car before he realized they had nothing to go on.

“Now what?” 

May tapped the screen of the control panel. “I made some modifications to this vehicle while it was in for repairs. And I laced my mini quiches with microbots so we should be able to trace Simmons’s location.” 

“Mini quiches with microbots--” Fitz shook his head. They could cover that one later. “But Jemma didn’t have any of the quiches.” 

May swore and sat back, cradling her sensitive arm. “That’s it then, she’s gone. I’ll phone it in but there’s nothing we can do on our end.” 

“Are you serious?” Fitz twisted to face her. “I can’t give up -- _we_ can’t give up. We didn’t believe her and now it’s because of us that she’s been kidnapped and might be tortured --” He gulped and took a different tact. “We have to save her. Let’s imagine you were Whitehall--” May glared at him and he hurried on, “What would you do? Fly Jemma out on a plane? Take her on a boat?” 

“I’d prefer a Quinjet but a helicopter would do.” 

“So search for launch pads within a certain radius,” Fitz said excitedly, hope returning, “and look for activity on the ground?” 

She looked at him for a moment than began typing on the touch screen again. “That’s actually a good idea.” 

“I did go to MIT,” Fitz said defensively.

May’s search took them to a dock at the edge of the city. The whole area was dark and deserted, with giant shipping containers and warehouses providing ample shadow and coverage for assassins and other types Fitz didn’t want to consider. He drove slowly, very grateful that the Nerdmobile was a hybrid and in this situation therefore practically a stealth vehicle -- if it weren’t for the red and white paint job. 

“There.” May pointed suddenly across an open stretch of pavement to a helicopter where a very muscular man in tactical gear was loading in a gun. 

Fitz stopped the car and May was out in seconds, pulling a gun from her waistband. “Stay in the car, Fitz.” 

_I can do that,_ Fitz thought gratefully. Finally a part of a mission he was good at. 

But then a door opened on the side of the building nearest the car and Dr. Whitehall emerged, looking around furtively before striding towards the helicopter. 

“Stay in the car. Stay in the car,” Fitz whispered, slinking down in his seat. But May had gone running off in the opposite direction and Whitehall could be back at any moment and oh god what if he had Jemma in there bleeding and broken and--

He unbuckled his seatbelt and ran in a crouch to the door through which Whitehall had come. It opened onto what appeared to be a former office space, with broken desks and shattered light bulbs. He ran through the dim room towards the back, where a chainlink fence demarcated what might have once been a storage cage -- or even holding cell, he supposed. 

Jemma was suspended in the middle of the room, her hands pulled above her in handcuffs that were attached to a chain on the ceiling. With her high heels she was just able to touch the floor but her toes kept slipping and her entire body was stretched painfully to try to maintain the contact. 

Fitz ran in front of her, automatically examining her visible skin for blood or cuts. He was relieved to find no apparent harm. Jemma made an indistinct, high-pitched noise that resembled his name and he tore off the duct tape from her lips, apologizing profusely as he did so. 

“Fitz!” she hissed furiously. “You can’t be here!” Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for. _What had he been hoping for, then?_ “You’re far too valuable -- the secrets in your head, if they fell into Whitehall’s hands--”

“But I’m here to save you,” he muttered, deflating slightly. 

“You don’t think I can take care of that myself? I have an intimate understanding of human anatomy, I’ll just break my wrist--” 

“That’s really not necessary,” Fitz said quickly, blanching and trying to chase away the mental images drawn up by multiple parts of her statement. “The lock used in these handcuffs is actually quite easy to pick, if you just had a little pin or--” He cast around the room for something. 

“There’s a bobby pin in my hair,” Jemma suggested. 

“That’ll do -- I’ll just -- erm--” He gingerly reached between her extended arms and slid the pin out of her hair so that a long lock fell alongside her face. “Sorry--” He made to tuck it behind her ear but she shook her head. 

“Not the time, Fitz!” 

“Right.” He started to pick the lock himself, as best he could without moving any closer to Jemma, but from the front of the office came the sound of the door opening again. 

“You have to hide!” Jemma hissed. “Just put the pin in my hand!” 

He did so and carefully reapplied the duct tape to her mouth, patting the ends to make sure it was in place before running to the other end of the cage and hiding behind some crates. 

Whitehall strode in carrying a briefcase. Fitz’s gut twisted as he thought of what terrible instruments could be hidden inside. “Your chariot is ready, Agent Simmons. We’ll be able to take you where we have the equipment to make you comply, and where people are willing to get their hands dirty -- you’ll forgive me for not taking the pleasure of torturing you myself.” 

Fitz marveled at Jemma’s impassivity as she rotated slightly, one hand working almost imperceptibly to pick the lock while this slimy traitor spoke about torturing her. 

“It needn’t come to all that, though, Agent Simmons,” Whitehall practically purred, stepping close to Jemma. Fitz saw her jaw tighten. “Just tell me who Patient X is and this can all be over.” 

He stripped the duct tape off but rather than responding, Jemma spat on his cheek. Whitehall stepped back and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, with which he carefully wiped the spit away. 

“I can see we’re going to need to knock you out for the ride,” Whitehall sighed, sounding almost disappointed, and opened the briefcase to take out a giant needle. 

Fitz tried to stop himself but he squeaked involuntarily from his hiding spot behind the crates. Whitehall turned immediately and Jemma cried out, “Run!” Fitz did as he was told, sprinting towards a secondary exit, but just as he got there the needle landed in the door with a _thwack_ , just inches from his head. 

Fitz turned slowly to look at Whitehall, and as he met the man’s eyes for the first time, he flashed. This time he didn’t understand any of the images, but he knew, somehow, what it meant. 

“You’ve been working for Hydra for the last fifteen years,” he said automatically. “Working from the inside to give them classified government secrets--” 

“Ah, Patient X,” Whitehall said, obviously pleased. “What an honor! Thank you for joining us after all. Yes, Hydra will be very intrigued by you, I think. Why don’t you and I take a little trip?” 

And he raised the dart gun he’d used on May and Jemma not an hour before and shot Fitz in the chest. 

 

Fitz woke to the deafening whir of chopper blades and a slight rocking, as if he were on a ship. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down -- the dart was still protruding there, but as he lifted the Nerd Herd badge into which it had gotten stuck, he realized the dart had never actually penetrated skin. He hadn’t been knocked out, just fainted. _Maybe don’t mention that to Jemma or May, if it comes up._ Fortunately, as he was presumed to be knocked out at the moment, Whitehall hadn’t bothered to tie him up.

Fitz could hear Whitehall and the chopper’s pilot discussing their route. He watched the backs of their heads carefully and scooted forward to grab the gun resting between their seats. 

“Don’t move!” he cried, trying to keep his voice at a level pitch and stop his hands from shaking. “You’re going to turn this helicopter around and land us right now.” 

Whitehall turned in his seat and shook his head as he took in the sight of Fitz. “Really, Mr. Fitz? You’re making this unnecessarily unpleasant for all of us.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his tie. “It’s heavier than you thought, isn’t it? The gun?” 

“Wha--” Fitz glanced down at it and self-consciously hefted it higher. 

“Ever shot someone before?” 

“Of course not,” Fitz shot back automatically. “I mean, in Call of Duty, maybe--” 

“Yes, well, I’m going to need to take that back from you,” Whitehall said calmly, reaching over the seat for the gun. 

Fitz yanked it back but Whitehall got a grip on Fitz’s wrist and Fitz panicked, firing the gun and sending a dart straight into the pilot’s neck. 

“You idiot!” Whitehall yelled as the pilot slumped forward and the helicopter bucked. “You’ll get us all killed.”

“Would everyone just stop calling me an idiot?!” Fitz shouted, shooting Whitehall as well. He lowered the gun as he realized he was now alone in an airborne helicopter. “Oh dear.” 

He scrambled into the front seat and grappled with something that looked like a video game joystick, just barely managing to pilot around a construction crane. “Bullocks, bloody hell, shit--” 

His cellphone rang. _If it’s Hunter, I’m going to--_ He pulled out his Bluetooth earpiece, grateful for once to be such a nerd. 

“I told you to stay in the car!” 

“Seriously, May?” he yelped. “I’m trying not to die here and that’s all you can say to me?” 

“Flying is easy,” May ground out. “Just push the stick a bit forward while doing the same thing with the emergency brake -- no, you idiot, not like that -- pull up -- level off!” 

The helicopter was jerking wildly through the air and the more May tried to direct him, the more he began to panic. “May, put Jemma on the phone!” 

There was a rustle in his ear, then Jemma said breathlessly, “Fitz, I’m here. Think of it like a flight simulator -- you’ve done those, right? Like a video game. They design those games to be like real helicopters. Just use what you’ve learned from playing those games and you’ll be fine.” 

With Jemma’s voice -- calm, determined, and almost clinical -- in his ear, Fitz managed to redirect the helicopter away from the water and back down to where May and Jemma were splashes of color on the pavement. It was hardly a graceful landing, but he touched down with just a slight bump and tumbled out of the cockpit, mentally praising all the physicists and game designers he could think of.

“What were you thinking?” Jemma cried as she ran up to him. May brushed past him to check on Whitehall. “Fitz, the secrets in your head are too important. You have to listen to me when I try to guide you. And I don’t just mean tonight -- you compromised everything when you stopped trusting me.” 

“And when you got out of the car,” May called. 

Jemma ignored the interruption. “I can’t believe you could think I was a double agent. You’re honestly comparing me to Will Daniels? Fitz, Will betrayed everything I stand for. If you accuse me of something like this one more time, I swear I will call off this mission and we will all go to Washington D.C., which is not a situation you’ll enjoy -- the ATCU is rather fond of needles and prodding.” 

Fitz gulped and glanced at May, whose lips quirked up slightly as she nodded. 

 

The next evening, after prodding from Daisy and a sleepless night of thinking through everything himself, Fitz stopped by Wienerlicious once his shift at the Buy More was over. 

“One hot dog, please,” he said bracingly to Jemma when he reached the counter. “For a person who’s been an absolute dog himself.” 

She just rolled her eyes and continued stacking napkins. 

“Listen, Jemma, I know this doesn’t make it better, but I feel like an absolute arsehole for accusing you of being a double agent. This is all so crazy -- like, this can’t be my life -- and I was desperate to find answers and I landed on a ridiculous one. The opposite of Occam’s razor.” He thought that Jemma’s lips twitched at the reference and he hurried on. “I should have been thanking you instead, for saving my life already more times than I can count.” 

She stopped working and frowned down at her hands. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Fitz shrugged. “It was our first fight. That would be a big step...if our relationship were even remotely real.” 

Jemma looked up at him and opened her mouth but the door chimed open and Trip, Daisy, and Hunter walked in. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Daisy said, squeezing Trip around the middle. “But we thought maybe we could try that dinner again?” 

They swarmed around Fitz, chattering over the Wienerlicious menu, and Fitz looked at Jemma across the counter with a goofy wide-eyed expression of panic which made her laugh and break his gaze. He felt a warm, pleasant _something_ course through him at the sound and realized, as he accepted a corn dog from her, that he was in big trouble where Agent Jemma Simmons was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr -- I'm grapehyasynth over there as well!


	4. Fitz vs. The Bad-Girl Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One successful mission under his belt, Fitz gets thrown into a new one that once again tests his trust of Jemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S TAKEN ME FOREVER BUT FINALLY AN UPDATE!!! :D :D
> 
> I'm still finding my footing with this fic but this chapter is significantly more _me_ than the first three. Hopefully I can continue improving! 
> 
> Also if any of you saw my graphic on Tumblr for this chapter and laughed, please come help me make better ones. I made it in Paint because that's the level I'm at. Preference to Team Biochem at the moment, sorry, but anyone can reach out ;)

“How was your date?” Daisy asked brightly, overzealously dumping olive oil onto the salad she’d been prepping for dinner. 

Fitz paused, a glass of water halfway to his mouth. For all that Daisy and Trip knew, Fitz had been out dancing with Jemma yesterday. They’d been so excited for it that Daisy had rented Fitz a nice suit and Trip had spent several hours trying to teach him to tango. 

The suit had undoubtedly been worth it: Jemma had entered the room wearing a silky red floor-length gown with a high slit and strappy red heels, and she’d smiled at him and straightened his tie and told him he looked the part. 

And he had tangoed, except it was with a woman who ended up being the international criminal mastermind known as La General, who was in town to obtain a painting frame containing plutonium. With Fitz’s assistance, Jemma and May had prevented the hand-off from taking place, but not before Fitz was strapped to a chair in a hotel room and threatened with torture. As far as he knew, the two agents had spent the entirety of today helping Interpol track down La General and her remaining enforcers. 

“It was okay,” Fitz finally answered Daisy’s question. 

She looked at him for a second, then back to her salad, her mouth twisting slightly to the side. “I get it. You don’t want to tell me. I just thought--” 

“Daisy, it’s not--” He kneaded the scrunch in his brow, considering. A distance had been growing between himself and his foster sister since everything with the Intersect and Jemma and May had begun, which was understandable, as he couldn’t tell her he was now working unofficially part-time protecting international secrets, which also happened to be somehow in his head. But whatever else changed, he could keep a handle on this. “It’s not you. I just don’t want anyone getting excited about a relationship that’s doomed.” 

“Fitz, you’re so melodramatic,” Daisy sighed. “Why is it doomed?” 

“Jemma’s just not... into me,” he finished lamely, feeling exposed saying something so close to the truth. 

“Uh, trust me, Fitz, she’s into you. Like,  _ super _ into you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” 

Fitz suddenly found he’d forgotten every word in the English language. He was torn between feeling nauseous and allowing the corners of his mouth to perk up hopefully. “Really?” he stammered at last. 

“God, I thought it was obvious.” Daisy plucked a leaf of spinach off of the salad and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly to consider the dressing. “And don’t act so surprised. Some of us are aware of how amazing you are, even when you’ve forgotten.” 

“I’m sorry I’ve not been a very good brother lately,” Fitz said, feeling now doubly guilty for missing dinners and ignoring calls and being brusque with Daisy. 

“I’ll give you a pass on this one. New girl, figuring out new patterns. This continues for more than another month, though, and I’ll have to kick your ass.” 

There was a knock on the door. Fitz stuck his tongue out at Daisy and called to her over his shoulder as he went to answer it, “I’d like to see you try.” They both knew she would absolutely win in a fight. 

Jemma stood in the courtyard outside, gazing up at the stars, somehow looking just as striking in a grey t-shirt as she had in her red gown. She looked over to him as he stepped out and she smiled. “Hi, Fitz.” 

“You’ve arrived just in time for dinner -- I’m sure Daisy would die of happiness if you joined us, d’you want to come in?” 

“I’d best not,” she said. “Still a few things to wrap up from today.” 

He approached her and noticed for the first time that her lower lip was split and bruised on one side. He raised a hand as if to touch it with his thumb and caught himself with his palm just inches from her cheek, quickly retracting his arm. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“Occupational hazard,” Jemma smiled, then winced. “She got in a lucky kick. Back in university I actually developed a chemical compound that when mixed into a salve and applied to abrasions such as this would halve the healing time, but unfortunately it’s not been approved by the agency yet.” 

“But that’s brilliant,” Fitz said eagerly. “How did you go about counteracting the --” 

“Another time,” Jemma interrupted him, glancing over his shoulder at Daisy, who was hovering in the living room, clearly trying to eavesdrop. “Can we talk in the courtyard?” 

He pulled the door shut behind him, giving Daisy a quick admonishing glance, and followed her over to the fountain. 

“Everything taken care of, then? With La General?” 

“She’s in custody. We’re going to take some extra precautions with your security, but we believe we’ve also arrested all of the members of her party who were privy to her order to hunt you down. You and your family should be safe.” 

Fitz shook his head at the surreality of what she was saying. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. “I’m lucky to have you around. You and May.” 

“Just doing our jobs,” she replied breezily. “By the way, congratulations on your first undercover mission.” 

He scoffed. “Thanks, Jemma, but it’s fairly obvious I’d make a horrible spy. I’m still just a Nerd Herder with bad luck.” 

“You withstood interrogation under threat of torture and apprehended an international criminal,” Jemma said sternly. “Most spies would call that a good day. You’re a hero, Fitz.” 

He finally met her eyes, ignoring the part of his brain which told him that her smile and encouragement that were sending warmth through his veins were necessary extensions of her job, keeping the asset, as he was called, content and placid. It was a combination of that warmth and Daisy’s words still echoing in his ears that led him to say the next thing. 

“If we were really dating, this would probably be the moment where I’d be forced to kiss you.” 

He blushed furiously but refused to look away. 

“Forced?” Jemma asked quietly, smiling. “Would it be so bad?” 

“I’d do my best to power through,” he murmured. 

She paused, eyes flicking across his face. “Me too,” she said at last. “For our cover.” 

“Right. Of course. For the cover.” 

“Speaking of which,” she rushed on, “we have our next mission.” 

“What?” he yelped. “Already? We don’t get a day off? No time to rest on our laurels? No ceremony where the Rebel Alliance gives us medals?” 

“My cover definitely wouldn’t understand that reference.” 

“But you do,” he grinned, then realized with a swooping feeling in his stomach that she’d inadvertently just revealed something real, something personal, about herself. No matter how inconsequential a detail, it felt enormous. 

Jemma appeared to not notice, continuing, “We’ll fill you in in the home theater room at the Buy More tomorrow during your break. The operation itself is on Saturday.” 

“What if I have plans?” Fitz demanded. 

“Do you?” Jemma countered. 

“No,” he muttered, “but you could at least ask.” 

She regarded him for a moment -- it made him antsy, like she had X-ray vision or could read minds, though admittedly May was much worse. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.” 

“I mean, I understand, international security, blah blah blah, but someday I might need to clear my schedule.” 

“Okay, Fitz,” Jemma said, in what he thought was an indulgent tone. “See you tomorrow.” 

  
  
  
  


Fitz was the first one to the home theater room the next day, and he slouched down in an arm chair and began flicking through channels on the giant wall-mounted television, trying to see if he could make himself flash off of regular news items or advertisements. 

“Hi, Fitz,” Jemma said, startling him as she pushed aside the heavy curtains and stepped inside, wearing her Wienerlicious uniform. She’d started saying it, just like that,  _ Hi, Fitz _ , in a specific tone he couldn’t place. Never  _ Hey  _ or  _ Hello  _ or  _ What’s up _ ? Always  _ Hi, Fitz. _

“So what’s the mission this time?” he asked bracingly as she approached. “Nuclear disarmament? Assassination attempt? Military coup?” 

“International high-tech weapons development. But you’ll get all that in a moment. I wanted to warn you, before they get here --” She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re being joined on this mission by an agent you’ll know only as Lorelei. She’s a good agent, I’ve known her for many years, but we can’t trust her. Not with you, anyway, not with your secrets. We’ve told her you’re a CIA analyst. Be careful with her and what she says to you, or what she tries to get you to say.” 

“You say you’ve known her for many years,” Fitz repeated slowly, “but you didn’t call her a friend.” 

“She’s...” Jemma let out a huff. “Her preferred methods of espionage are not to my taste.” 

“What does that mean?” Fitz asked nervously. 

“You’ll see.” 

“And what’s going on in here?” 

One of the Koenigs -- Fitz still couldn’t really tell them apart -- stood in the doorway, taking in the two of them, alone, in the theater room. 

Smooth as you please, Jemma sat on the arm of Fitz’s chair, running her hand over his shoulder and onto his neck, where it stayed while her fingers played with the curls at his nape. “Hi, Billy.” How did  _ she  _ know which one it was, Fitz managed to think furiously through his sudden inability to focus on anything but the rub of her nails across his skin. “We’re using our lunch breaks to have some alone time -- it’s so hard to get privacy, since Fitz lives with his sister, you know--” 

“Ah!” Billy winked and shot finger guns their way. “I got you. No further explanation needed. Mum’s the word.” He pretend to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key while backing out of the room. 

Seconds after he was gone, May entered the room with a statuesque red-head who took in Fitz and Jemma’s position with a mischievous smile. 

“Well, that didn’t take long.” 

“Wha-” Fitz started to ask, but Jemma withdrew her hand like she’d been burned and stood up quickly, her back to him. 

“Relax, Jemma, I’m teasing,” the other woman laughed, brushing Jemma’s arm. “Melinda told me about your cover. But really, here? Burbank? You must be dying of boredom.” She leaned around Jemma to stage-whisper to Fitz, “You wouldn’t believe the bad-girl shenanigans we got up to at the Academy--” 

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Jemma cut in sharply. “This is a professional meeting, Lorelei.” 

“Right.” Lorelei shot Fitz an exaggeratedly exasperated look and stepped over his legs to perch on the couch near him. “Fitz, right? I hear you’re our man for this mission. Can’t tell you how...excited I am to be working with you.” Her eyes rove over him, and Fitz colored deeply. 

Jemma rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. “Agent May, would you please begin the debrief?” 

“With pleasure,” May said coolly, glaring at Fitz. She pressed a button on the side of the TV and it switched away from the children’s program on which Fitz had landed to an image of a large diamond. “This is a diamond,” May intoned. “It’s a very rare, very expensive diamond. It’s also currently in the possession of one Ian Quinn, an industrialist long suspected of funding weapons development through his international corporation and of supporting terrorist factions. Nothing’s been proven, so Quinn remains free to besmirch science and capitalism for all of us. Lorelei has been doing groundwork on this for months -- please correct me if I miss anything.” 

She tapped the TV again and a picture of an arrogant-looking man in a nice suit appeared, followed by a luxurious beach-side villa. 

“The diamond is being kept, heavily guarded, in Quinn’s Los Angeles resort until he can complete a trade. The diamond in exchange for tech, which he will then sell at a mark-up to terrorist groups, guerilla armies, and dictators around the world.”

May turned off the TV completely and turned to face them, her hands clasped before her. “On Saturday Quinn is having a pool party.” Her mouth twisted around the words. “We go in, scope out the place, find the diamond, get out. All recon. We’ll then be able to do a quick extraction at a later date. Lorelei has been to Quinn’s compound before and will work on setting up a cover that will allow her to return for the second visit.” Lorelei beamed around at them, winking at Fitz in particular. “Fitz, once we locate the diamond, we need you to assess the security around it and figure out how to disable any tech there. Simmons and I will run support as necessary.” 

“Seems straightforward enough,” Lorelei chirped. “Anyone want to go out for drinks, now that we’ve gotten the boring part out of the way?” 

Fitz glanced at Jemma, whose mouth was in a tight line. “I’d go,” he dared to say, “but my lunch break ends in twenty minutes.” 

Lorelei pouted at him. “Play hooky with me?” 

“Agent May will see you out now,” Jemma interrupted loudly. “I need to debrief with Fitz about our last mission.” 

“See you Saturday,” Lorelei purred, leaning in close to Fitz before she stood and followed May back out into the store. 

There was a tense silence as Jemma stood, arms crossed, watching where Lorelei had disappeared. 

“So, what was that, exactly?” Fitz finally choked out. 

Jemma turned to him. “Lorelei knows the effect she has on men, and quite a few women as well, and she uses it. Indiscriminately, exaggeratedly, unnecessarily. It’s hardly orthodox, but she’s had a tremendous success rate with the Agency, so her superiors turn a blind eye to her method.” 

“And I see you don’t approve.” Fitz couldn’t help smiling. Of course high-strung, tight-laced Agent Simmons would be annoyed by Lorelei. 

“It doesn’t matter whether or not I approve,” she snapped. “Just -- be careful.” 

“Sorry?” 

“You’re male, Fitz, and to my knowledge heterosexual, and she  _ will  _ use that to her advantage.” 

“Oh, no, I don’t--” Fitz scratched behind his ear, unsure why he was so quick to refute that, and what it was he was trying to say. “I don’t find her that, er -- I mean, she’s pleasant enough, I suppose, but--” 

“Don’t let her hear you talking like that, or she will make it her mission to seduce you,” May smirked, coming back into the room. 

“That’s not -- I -- erm--” Fitz glanced between them desperately, unsure whether or not that would be a good thing. Jemma was examining her shoes and didn’t meet his eyes, and May’s expression certainly didn’t offer him any answers. “What do I do if that happens?” 

“Didn’t tell me the kid was a virgin,” May commented to Jemma. 

“You do what you want to do, Fitz,” Jemma said sharply. “Just remember the mission, and remember she cannot know what you have in your head.” 

  
  
  


When Lorelei called him that night, Fitz was terrified to answer, still not sure how he would treat her advances, but fortunately she just had a computer problem and begged him to come help her at once. 

He showed up at her hotel room with his Nerd Herd kit, which he brandished with a half-smile. “Where’s the emergency?” 

“Oh, you won’t need that,” she laughed, stepping forward to pry it out of his hands. “You didn’t think I actually had a computer issue, did you?” 

“I don’t know what else you would -- uh --” He swallowed hard, as she’d let her robe slip down one shoulder and was toying with the end of his tie. 

“Fitz, we both know I asked you here to seduce you. I’m not a fan of the games people play, dancing around it, but if that helps get you off--” 

“I can’t,” he blurted out. “My cover -- Jemma --” 

“It’s just a cover,” she reminded him. “If no one knew--” 

“I can’t--” 

“Or are you two sleeping together? I thought, from the way she had her hands on you when I walked in today, that might be the case. And it would make sense, really -- she has a history of dating her partners.” 

“That’s not--” 

“Like Will Daniels. Did you hear about him? Tragic, really.” 

For the second time that day, Fitz’s brain short-circuited while a beautiful woman was touching him, but this time it had nothing to do with the circles she was tracing on his chest and everything to do with what she’d just said. He’d suspected, somehow, that there was more to Jemma’s history with Will Daniels than she let on -- he’d picked up snippets here and there, things overheard when she and May were talking, mentions of her former partner -- but he had refused to believe that Jemma, who was so wonderful and sweet when she wasn’t yelling at him or kicking someone’s arse, could have fallen for Will, who had gotten Fitz kicked out of MIT and stolen his girlfriend at the time. Not to mention given him this computer in his brain. 

He’d even asked Jemma outright, once, whether there’d been more between her and Will. She had said no. 

“I have to go,” Fitz said, taking the kit back from Lorelei and walking backwards til he hit the door. “I have to -- uh -- I’ll just --” 

And he scurried out before she could protest. 

  
  
  


He avoided Jemma for the rest of the week, ducking into the bathroom when she visited the Buy More and dodging her calls. He told Daisy that Jemma was sick so she’d stop bothering him to bring his girlfriend over for dinner again. He didn’t blame her -- he couldn’t, she was allowed to live her life any way she wanted and just because Will had been terrible to him didn’t mean he’d been a bad choice for Jemma. 

What bothered him most, what made him unable to face her and made him dread Saturday more than he already had, was the ease with which she’d lied to him.  _ No. Will and I were partners. We were barely even friends _ . She’d looked surprised he would even suggest it. 

May drove him to Quinn’s villa. They met Lorelei and Jemma at the front gate, where May let him out and went to park the car. Lorelei was wearing a tiny black dress and Jemma’s dark blue top had a slit that dipped almost down to her navel, a golden ring holding the sides together -- it was almost like they were competing or something, so between Jemma’s eyes and their outfits there was really nowhere safe for Fitz to look. 

“Hi, Fitz,” Jemma said, like always. She stepped close to him, whispering so that Lorelei wouldn’t hear, though Fitz saw her smirking behind Jemma. “Where have you been this past week? What if something had happened--” 

“May would have gotten in touch,” he answered dully, straightening his cuffs. 

“So it’s just me you have a problem with, then.” 

He considered lying -- it would be fair turnabout -- but whatever Jemma said about him being a hero, he definitely wasn’t a spy. So he hissed, “Lorelei said--” 

“What have I told you about listening to her, Fitz?” she whispered back sharply. “You can’t trust her.” 

“I want to believe that.” He frowned at the ground, parsing through his words carefully. “I really want to believe that, because she told me that you and Will Daniels were together, even though when I asked you about him, you said no. So it’d be nice if she were lying and I spent this past week worrying over nothing.” 

Jemma didn’t answer. He finally looked up at her. Her lips were very tight, but otherwise she looked unaffected. 

“It’s not true, is it?” he almost begged. 

“It was complicated,” she whispered, one hand coming up to touch her eyebrow. 

“I thought you were supposed to be good at lying,” he snarled, not bothering to keep his voice down, and turning away from her as May strode up to them. 

“Shall we?” she said, not seeing or choosing to ignore the tension between Fitz and Jemma. 

The mission itself proved disconcertingly uneventful. They floated through the party, scoping out cameras, guards, and exits which might be useful for Lorelei on her return mission. Under pretense of finding a restroom, Lorelei, Fitz, and Jemma snuck into the house and located the room where the diamond was being held. 

“The room itself is fairly lightly secured,” Fitz assessed, scanning the keypad next to the door. “Which must mean most of the security--” 

“Is inside the room,” Jemma finished for him, brushing past him to enter a code into the keypad. The doors slid open, revealing the diamond perched on a glass stand on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Lorelei strode forward, but Fitz caught her wrist and held her back. 

“Careful - there’s a radius of laser tripwires around the pedestal. Get too close, those would set off an alarm. And on the diamond itself...” Fitz circled the pedestal, putting together the big picture through a combination of flashes and his own understanding of tech. “Look there, those little boxes right under the edge of the pedestal -- anyone who touches the diamond will receive a lethal electric shock.” 

“So what do you suggest I do about it?” Lorelei quizzed him. 

Fitz let out a long breath. “You could knock it off with compressed air, I suppose.” 

“Like this?” 

He turned to find Lorelei holding a fire extinguisher. 

“That would work, I suppose--”

“Lorelei,  _ no _ \--” Jemma cried, just as Lorelei fired a puff of air and foam from the extinguisher straight at the diamond. 

Fitz scrambled across the room, catching the diamond as it fell.

“We had a plan!” Jemma yelled as alarms began to blare and the doors started shutting automatically. Jemma wedged the doors open with the abandoned fire extinguisher long enough for them all to get out, but men in dark suits were tearing down the hallway towards them and Lorelei was already sprinting towards the nearest exit. “I’m going to kill her,” Jemma muttered, grabbing Fitz’s hand and hauling him after her. “May!” she shouted into her watch. “Lorelei improvised, we’re going to need evac from the beach!” 

Fitz clung to Jemma’s hand and the diamond, both of which were threatening to slip away from his sweaty palms.  They caught up to Lorelei on the sand, where she wiggled her fingers at Fitz. 

“Give it to me. The diamond, give it to me, Fitz! I’ll take it and go ahead and take some of the heat off of you.” 

“Don’t trust her, Fitz!” Jemma cried, throwing an arm in front of him. “Remember what I told you.” 

“Which lie was that?” Fitz shot back acerbically. “So hard to keep track these days.” 

And he tossed the diamond over Jemma’s head to Lorelei, who caught it. 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she chuckled, pushing a button on her watch. A jetski rose out of the shallow surf, and Lorelei ran to it, tugging off her dress and jumping on. “I knew I could count on you. And thanks for your help, guys, but I’ve found a third party who’s offered me a nice sum to get this out of circulation for good.” She revved the jetski, calling over her shoulder, “Call me, Fitz!” 

Fitz stared, open-mouthed, as she sped away. 

“Ugh,  _ Fitz _ !” Jemma groaned, spinning away from him. “Look what you’ve done! How could you -- I can’t even--” Her exclamations morphed into indecipherable half-phrases, which only cut off as Agent May arrived, pulling up in a black SUV which barely blocked the first bullets sent by the guards chasing them. 

“Get in,” May snarled at them, and they ducked and ran to the back door, through which Jemma unceremoniously shoved Fitz. 

“What happened?” May demanded once they were on the road, speeding away from the villa. “Where’s Lorelei?” 

“Gone, with the diamond!” Jemma exclaimed. “She apparently decided to do things her own way, and Fitz decided to help her.” 

“Another Daniels situation?” May asked sharply, glancing at Jemma in the rearview mirror. 

“No, not quite that dire, I shouldn’t think,” Jemma muttered, brushing her hair down flat and smacking a fist against the car door. “Unacceptable nonetheless.” 

“Let me go after her,” Fitz interrupted suddenly, a plan forming in his mind.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jemma dismissed. 

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “What other option do you have? If you try to track her you’ll show up to wherever she is only to find Quinn’s men there instead. She’s too smart for that. You can’t set up a meeting with her, not after she’s openly betrayed you. She knows all your tech and your methods, and she’d be able to use them against you.” 

“Why would she meet with you?” Jemma demanded. “You’re on our side.” 

“Yeah, well,” Fitz said sullenly, “she’s under the impression that you and I aren’t on the best of terms at the moment. Besides, I think she actually kind of likes me.” 

May snorted from the front seat, but Jemma watched him carefully. 

“How do we know we can trust you?” she asked finally. “You just sabotaged our mission to help an agent who now appears to be rogue. How do we know you’re not just going to join her and abscond to the Phillipines or something?” 

“You don’t,” Fitz replied, shrugging. “But right now you’ve got nothing. Worst case, I run away with her and you have reason to call out all the resources at your organizations’ disposal to hunt us down. As you said, I’m too valuable. You don’t have to trust me, but you need me.” 

“I say we do it, Simmons,” May surprised them both by saying from the front seat. “He’s an idiot, but he might be our best shot. What’s your plan, kid?” 

  
  
  
  


Lorelei answered the door still in just her bathing suit, her red hair just starting to fluff out from her romp through the ocean. A wide smile spread across her face as she let Fitz in. 

“I was so glad to get your message. We can’t stay here long, but I’ll find us a nice motel and then we can--” 

“No, let’s do it here,” Fitz interrupted, grabbing her hip and spinning her so her back was to him, pulling her wrists together and holding them in one hand. “Like you said, no games. Where’s the diamond?” 

“Fitz,” she laughed, glancing back at him over her shoulder, her lips slightly pursed. “You really think you can take me on? I’m a spy, you’re a computer nerd.” 

“Maybe, but I’m holding an short-range transmitter that will send an electromagnetic pulse through any electronics in a three meter radius.” Fitz gestured with the tiny device in his free hand. “Including that fancy watch you like so much, which I noticed has a self-destruct mechanism. Possibly cyanide injection?” He hissed through his teeth. “Nasty stuff. So unless you want to find out what they programmed into it, you should give me the diamond.” 

“You wouldn’t,” she scoffed. “You don’t have it in you.” 

“Try me.” 

“You have to understand, Fitz,” she wheedled, “Jemma would do the exact same thing in my place. We’re all mercenaries, essentially.” 

“Not Jemma. She believes in something larger, in science, in justice--” He’d been so bitter towards Jemma for the lies she’d told him that he hadn’t realized that everything he was saying now was true. Whatever Jemma did, however much he hated it, however much it felt personal, was part of her efforts to protect the greater good. 

Lorelei hummed. “And here I thought you two weren’t doing so well.” 

“We’re still figuring some things out. I forget that you spies operate on different standards, that lying is part of the deal.” 

Lorelei was silent for a long time, and when she spoke, her voice was different than Fitz had heard it yet: unaffected, calm. “You can let me go, Fitz. I’ll give you the diamond.” 

He released her carefully, stepping back out of kicking or punching range, but kept his thumb on the EMP in case he needed to threaten her again. 

“I gotta say, I’m disappointed we won’t be sleeping together,” she commented casually, pulling a briefcase out from under the bed and opening it, slowly and carefully so Fitz could see what she was doing. “I love taking what Jemma wants.” 

“That’s not -- you know we’re not sleeping together, right? Jemma and I? It’s a cover.” 

“For now, maybe. I’ve seen the way she looks at you though, and she may not know it herself yet, but there’s something there.” She pulled a small velvet bag out of the briefcase and handed it to Fitz, who shook it open to check it was the diamond. He recognized an imperfection from the image May had shown them in their debriefing session, ruling it out as a fake. “I should warn you, though, relationships like that don’t last. They can’t. It’s not real. Not one single part of it is real.” 

“It’s a cover,” Fitz repeated. 

“I wish you all the best, Fitz.” She patted his shoulder in the most sisterly gesture he’d seen her make since they met. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time finding a new career, now that you’ve bungled this up for me, but I still can’t totally resent you for it.” 

  
  
  
  


Fitz dropped the diamond off with May, who was set to deliver it to an NSA liaison in the city, then headed to Jemma’s apartment. 

She didn’t smile when she answered the door, just stood there with it half-open as if she hadn’t decided upon letting him in. 

“I brought pizza,” he said hopefully, opening the box to show her. “Vegetarian, no olives -- that’s the only real thing I know about you. Well, besides the fact that you’ve seen  _ Star Wars  _ \-- you don’t like olives. 

Jemma looked at the pizza for a long time, then let a reluctant smile perk up the corners of her mouth as she stood aside to let him in. 

He set the pizza on her dresser and turned to face her. He’d decided to get this over with right away. Sensing his mood, she sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for him to speak. 

“I’m really sorry, Jemma, about the way I handled everything. You’ve told me time and again to not let anything personal get in the way and to trust you and your decisions even when they don’t make sense to me but -- I didn’t do any of that and it’s fairly obvious to me now why you’re the spy and not me. And it makes sense to me that you and Will had a thing, he was always the top-marks, hero guy, doing everything right, getting the great girls...” He propped his hands up on his lower back and let out a breath. “It’s not that so much as the lying. I don’t know if I have trust issues or--” 

“Fitz, I’m a spy, you don’t need to tell me about trust issues,” Jemma said gently. “You’ll find a way to deal with it.” 

“And what’s your way?” he demanded before he could stop himself. “Not trusting anyone?” 

Jemma’s shoulders got very rigid and Fitz dropped his head with a groan. 

“No, that’s not what I meant to say, and that’s not fair, either. You and May put a lot of trust in me today. I just -- I wish I knew anything  _ real  _ about you,” he admitted. “Like where did you grow up? Your accent says Sheffield but is that even your real accent? Why would a girl from Yorkshire work for the CIA and not MI6? Or your name, your real name--” He waited, hoping she would say something, anything. When she didn’t he let his arms drop to his side. “Middle name?” 

Agent Jemma Simmons stayed quiet, hoping that silence was preferable to more lies. But when he’d given up, told her that he understood and gone off to put the pizza on plates for the both of them to eat in front of the TV, she whispered into the empty room, “Maude. My middle name is Maude.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm grapehyasynth on Tumblr as well! Reach out!


	5. Fitz vs. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weapons designer Donnie Gill is loose and dangerous, Fitz has questions about his own past, a cute girl flirts with him at the Buy More, and Jemma thinks it's time they had sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to adaughterofeve for beta magic on this one!!! 
> 
> This is hella long -- hope it's worth it :)

“Help! Please  _ somebody _ help me, I’ve lost everything--” 

“Woah woah woah, calm down,” Fitz said quickly, rushing around the Nerd Herd desk to the side of the very distressed -- and admittedly very pretty -- young woman pacing madly back and forth across the linoleum. “I’m here. What do you need?” 

“It’s my phone,” the woman wailed, thrusting the device at him. “It’s got my entire life on it and it won’t turn on and I -- you have to help me.” She grabbed his wrists, gazing plaintively up at him. “I’ll die without it, you don’t understand.” 

“It’s alright,” Fitz tried to soothe her, turning his wrists so that he could take her hands. “That’s what I’m here for. Nerd, remember?” 

“You promise you’ll save her?” 

“Her?” he chuckled. 

“I call her Lou. After myself. Mini-Lou, sometimes.” 

“You named your phone.” Fitz realized he was still holding her hands and blushed, dropping them quickly, instead looking down at the phone. “A bit anthropomorphic.” 

“I’ll ignore the fact that you’re making fun of me in my time of distress if you fix her. I’ll even bring you a special sandwich from my deli.”

“You own a deli?” Fitz asked with great interest.

“It’s kind of a big deal. Only positive reviews on Yelp.”

“Well, I happen to be a big fan of sandwiches. Big ones, small ones, heavy on the meat, heavy on the cheese -- I’d be happy to give my professional opinion on yours.”

“But only if you fix my phone.” She had started smiling, finally, the panic leaving her face, and he noted how the corners of her eyes crinkled pleasantly. She was leaning towards him slightly, balancing on the balls of her feet, and he was suddenly struck by the preposterous thought that she was  _ flirting  _ with him.

“Agreed. Just, uh, write your email here and I’ll be in touch,” he said with some degree of wonder, handing her a clipboard.

“Yeah, that’d be awkward, right, if you tried to call me to tell me to come pick up my phone? Talking to yourself like a crazy person.” She clicked his pen and gave it back to him, glancing at his nametag. “Thanks a million, Fitz. You’re my favorite.”

“Bye, Lou,” he called after her.

She waved one last time before the automatic doors shut behind her.

“Mind cheater,” Hunter hissed, coming up next to him.

“What?” Fitz yelped, hurrying back around the Nerd Herd station to get started on Lou’s phone at once (which he would do for any customer of any gender or level of flirty attractiveness, he was sure).

“You’re a mind cheater, mate. She’s cute, yes, acknowledged, but you’ve already got a girlfriend. And what I just witnessed -- let me tell you, Jemma would  _ not  _ be okay with that.”

“I wasn’t  _ mind cheating _ , which isn’t even a  _ thing _ , Hunter. I was just helping a customer.”

That didn’t prevent him, though, from feeling a tad guilty when Jemma came over later for dinner.

“How was your day?” she asked brightly, closing the door to his room behind her.

“Er -- normal,” he muttered, suddenly finding it very important to tuck in his shirt. “Very boring. Hardly talked to anyone. No one interesting, anyway. You?” he choked out as casually as he could.

Jemma looked at him like he had two heads but just said, “We have a new mission, actually. Starting tomorrow,” she added quickly when he looked up, panicked. “I know how important this dinner is to you and Daisy.”

“What’s the mission?”

“Donnie Gill, a volatile S.H.I.E.L.D. asset with extensive weapons design experience, has escaped from his handlers. Actually, he murdered his handlers. He’s not unlike you, after a fashion.”

“Wha -- I’d never  _ murder  _ you and May, however grumpy she is--”

“That’s not the similar part,” Jemma interrupted impatiently. “He attended MIT a few years ago, that’s all I meant. As I understand it, you had a professor in common -- a Professor Fleming?”

“Ah.” Fitz looked down, scuffing his shoe across the floorboards, a familiar hollow feeling in his gut. “Yeah, I, uh, I remember Professor Fleming.”

“Fleming was a mentor to Gill. They were quite close, apparently. In fact, Fleming was the one who recruited Gill for S.H.I.E.L.D. -- Fleming worked as a scientific contractor for the agency for some time while he was at MIT but tried to distance himself a bit after he retired. He relocated to LA last year, so we’re hoping Gill will contact him, reach out to him as a potential ally. Regardless, Fleming might have information that could help us locate the asset. There are some... rather significant concerns that Gill might hurt more people before this is over. But we can’t do anything about that just yet. May will go over the plan tomorrow. For now, shall we head to dinner?”

“Err--” Fitz scratched the back of his head, looking carefully at a point on the wall just to the right of Jemma’s ear. “Actually, do you mind staying a moment longer? Trip keeps dropping comments about how you never spend the night, I think he’s getting suspicious about the physical side of our relationship. It might be good if we make them think we’re-- you know--”

“Oh!” Jemma’s eyes widened and she blushed slightly but she quickly reined in her expression. “Yes, that’s a good idea. We can use the time to go over the date we were supposed to be on last night.”

“Right. Movies, we said, yeah?”

“Exactly. Now, what top was I wearing?”

“That dark blue sweater with the white collared shirt underneath,” Fitz said automatically.

Jemma looked at him in surprise. “Oh. You like that one?”

“I like all of them,” he muttered, ears burning, and continued quickly, “What film did we see?”

Just then there was a knock on the door. Fitz glanced at Jemma just in time to see her pop open a button on her blouse and fling herself at him, her hands colliding with his chest.

Next thing he knew, he was on his back on the bed, Jemma was on top of him with her mouth all over his neck, and he could distinctly feel the bare tops of her... her...  _ chest _ where it rubbed against his collarbone.  _ Bloody hell _ .

“Wooooh, sorry about that!” Trip laughed from the doorway. “Right on, guys, right on. If you can put it on hold for a sec, Daisy’s got the casserole out of the oven, but I can tell her you need a minute if you want--”

“No, we’re coming!” Fitz squeaked, grabbing Jemma by the hips and practically tossing her to the side. She bounced on the bed, glaring at him, and he avoided looking at the effect that motion had on her chest.

“I thought you wanted to convince them,” Jemma hissed as she did up her top after Trip had left, still laughing.

“There’s no need to give me a hickey,” he snapped back, rubbing the side of his neck, which felt quite sensitive... as did  _ other  _ aspects of his anatomy. He stood quickly, making for the door as quickly as his situation allowed.

“Oh, Fitz!” Jemma called out, hurrying around the bed to grab his hand before he made it into the hallway. “I wanted to give you something--”

She was holding out a picture frame, and her hand dropped quickly away as Fitz took it from her.

“It’s us at a planetarium,” she explained quickly.

“Jemma, we’ve never been to a planetarium,” he said, thoroughly confused.

“Yes, but it seems like something we might do. If we were a couple,” she added in a whisper.

“Right.” It was strange, to see them both standing there, arms around each other’s waists, beaming at the camera. The Photoshop job was quite impressive. It looked so... real. The hollow feeling in his stomach was back. “Thanks for that.”

“Have to help sell our cover.” She patted his shoulder as if she hadn’t just been sprawled on top of him and brushed past him out into the hallway.

He stared at the photo for a moment longer before setting the frame on his bedside table. He shook his head and followed her into the kitchen.

Trip was helping Daisy set out the last few dishes and Jemma was leaned over Daisy’s African violet, examining one of the leaves.  Fitz stopped in surprise when he saw Hunter leaning against the couch with a half-empty beer in hand.

“What’s he doing here?”

“This for his alleged best friend, I tell you,” Hunter sighed.

“I figured we were already expanding our Mother’s Day,” Daisy explained, gesturing to Trip and Jemma, “and, well, Hunter and I kind of bonded over an ‘I miss Fitz’ moment.”

“Why’d you do that?” Fitz asked blankly. “I’ve not been anywhere.”

“Exactly, mate,” Hunter said, pushing off from the couch to clap Fitz slightly too hard on the back. “You’ve not been  _ anywhere _ . Daisy was telling me she hardly ever sees you anymore, and I said the same, and, well, here we are.”

“Misery loves company,” Daisy added.

“Yeah, I know I’ve been a right arsehole lately--” Fitz squinted one eye shut, unsure how to explain his absences. “Not been a great friend, or brother--”

“You’re here now,” Daisy cut him off firmly. “That’s what matters. Mind you, if you missed Mother’s Day, I would probably kill you, so it’d be a moot point.”

“By the way, why Mother’s Day in October?” Jemma chimed in, accepting a glass of wine from Fitz. “Thank you...sweetie,” she added awkwardly. Fitz colored and looked away.

Daisy smiled fondly at Fitz and reached over to ruffle his curls before he could duck out of the way. “It’s our own holiday. It celebrates the day we were taken into the same foster family and got to start building what we’d never had before. ‘Family Day’ sounded a little stupid so we just moved Mother’s Day to October.”

“Speaking of October,” Trip said as they all sat down, “you got a reminder about the MIT homecoming in the mail today, Fitz. You thinking about going this year?”

“Ah, no, don’t think so,” Fitz mumbled, unfolding his napkin. “Seeing as how the last day I was there was the worst day of my life--”

“You know what I forgot?” Daisy interrupted loudly. “A centerpiece. Fitz, can you just pop out into the courtyard and pick some of Mrs. Dietz’s flowers? She’ll never notice.”

He thought it was a strange request but he grabbed a pair of scissors and went outside nonetheless. He did a passable job, in his own estimation, of hiding the truncated stems under their more fortunate neighbors, and he was just about to reenter the apartment triumphantly when he heard Daisy explaining to Jemma, “It literally breaks my heart every time. MIT was his  _ dream  _ as a kid -- it was all he talked about. And he’s always been such a freaky little genius, it was the perfect place for him, and now -- he can’t even talk about it, he’s got so much residual anger and disappointment. I hate that it has that kind of hold over him.”

“What exactly happened?” Jemma asked, but Fitz decided that was quite enough and made a loud entrance, waving the bouquet he’d picked. Daisy looked away and busied herself with serving everyone.

It should have been Fitz’s favorite Mother’s Day ever, with the additions he and Daisy had made to their found family, but his mind was still so trapped at MIT and in all the memories of failure that he heard little of what was said and found even Trip’s famous pecan pie uninspiring. Jemma offered to stay for a while to pretend for Daisy and Trip that they were “fornicating”, as she put it, but he turned her down.

Instead, he decided it was time to get rid of The Box. Since he’d been kicked out of MIT, he’d kept a box deep in his closet of all the things that reminded him of that time: textbooks, pens with the school logo, photographs, little bobbleheads. Every now and then he’d get mailings from the alumni network -- despite the fact that he wasn’t technically an alum and had no intention of donating money now or ever -- and that would go in there too.

He had planned to burn it someday, as a symbolic release of all the ties binding him to that time. But enough was enough. So when Daisy and Trip had gone to bed, he hauled the box out to the big trash can in the courtyard and tossed it in. He expected to feel some sort of vindictive relief, but he still just felt sad, and empty, and tired.

As he turned to go back inside, he noticed his old student ID had fallen out onto the cobblestones. He stooped to pick it up -- and as he did, he flashed.

After the series of images that passed before his eyes, he had to steady himself against the trashcan, blinking rapidly.

He, Leopold Fitz, was in the Intersect.

It shouldn’t have been possible, considering he’d been an absolute nobody before the Intersect had been in his head, and no new files had been added since the transfer -- but there it was.

He gulped and pocketed the ID, just in case.

Jemma wasn’t at Wienerlicious the next day, and May called in sick to work -- both working on the Donnie Gill case, Fitz assumed -- so he didn’t get a chance to ask Jemma about it until late that night, when they were parked down the street from the house where Professor Fleming had been living for the last two years.

Her answer, however, was entirely unhelpful.

“I’ve no idea, Fitz,” she sighed. “Truly. I’m sorry I can’t help. But as you know, the information in the Intersect, those are secrets -- May and I, we’re ranked fairly highly in our respective organizations but even we wouldn’t be privy to most of what is in your head. I wish I could help you, but...” She shrugged. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

He nodded, fiddling with his sleeve. As per stakeout instructions, he was dressed all in black -- he looked ridiculous, he thought, especially next to Jemma, who had a S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue turtleneck and slacks -- but at least there would be no ski masks involved.

“So, stakeouts,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “You do these a lot?”

She gave him a look and picked up her binoculars to check out Fleming’s porch again. He’d been out when they’d knocked, and as they couldn’t be sure whether Donnie Gill would pay Fleming a visit as well, they were observing from a distance.

“On occasion, when they’re necessary,” she replied coolly.

“They always look pretty cool in the movies.”

“They’re not supposed to be  _ cool _ , Fitz.”

“Ah! Nearly forgot! I brought us some snacks!” he said triumphantly, twisting around in his seat to grab his backpack. “Case we get peckish.”

Jemma stared at the peanuts he was brandishing at her. “Stakeouts aren’t supposed to be  _ fun _ , either, Fitz. We need to concentrate.”

“So no stakeout mixtape, then,” he muttered, shoving a CD back into his bag.

They were silent for a long moment as Fitz ate a banana.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come at all,” Jemma said at last, binoculars still plastered to her face. “I noticed how you reacted when I said Fleming’s name. I thought you might protest any involvement.”

Fitz finished chewing, considering how to answer. The limitations of their strange position prevented Jemma from opening her own life to him, so he felt a bitter determination to keep his own secrets. At the same time, he couldn’t help wanting to trust her, wanting to share things like this with her. And maybe it was time he talked about it.

“Fleming was my Psychology and Symbolism professor junior year at MIT,” he said slowly, folding the banana peel. “He’s brilliant, and I was acing his class, and I thought about asking him if I could stay on for the summer to work with him. Then mid-semester he calls me in and tells me I got 100% on his midterm.”

“That’s quite impressive, Fitz.”

“Yeah, especially the section on encoded images -- no one had ever gotten them all right before. So I was feeling pretty great, as you can imagine, when Fleming tells me he thinks I cheated.”

Jemma glanced at him for the first time, eyebrows raised. “Anyone who knows you at all would be mad to accuse you of that.”

“That’s what I thought too. But as it turns out, Fleming had gotten a tip from someone that the answer key to the exam was in my room. He’d had it searched, and sure enough, there was the key, with copies apparently to be sold in the future.”

“You were framed,” Jemma clarified.

“Yep. By none other than my roommate and former best friend, Will Daniels.”

Jemma set the binoculars down in her lap and looked out the window for a long moment. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz sighed. “I still don’t. Honestly, that’s why I agreed to come tonight. To talk to Fleming, hopefully get some answers -- I just want to be able to put all this rubbish behind me.”

Another silence followed. Fitz drummed his fingers on his leg, wishing he had Daisy’s superhuman penchant for inane conversation. Or Lou’s, apparently. He smiled slightly to himself, remembering how effortlessly chatty she’d been even though they’d just met. Then he glanced over at Jemma, feeling inexplicably guilty.  _ Mind cheater _ , the little voice that sounded a lot like Hunter whispered to him. He crossed his arms grumpily over his chest.  _ You can’t cheat if you’re not really dating,  _ he reminded the voice.

He was seriously reconsidering bringing out that mixtape when Jemma suddenly burst into laughter.

“What?” he asked, unable to stop himself from smiling as she leaned back in her seat, giggling.

“You know what you said yesterday about how you’d never murder May and me?”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since then--” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, unable to speak for a minute as she laughed. “I have this mental image of you trying to fight Agent May--”

“Hey!” he protested, but he started chuckling too. “I would give it a go!”

“She would break you into a thousand different little pieces like matchsticks, Fitz,” Jemma teased, allowing her head to loll over to look at him.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Fitz chuckled.

One of the rear doors opened and May herself clambered in, still in her Buy More polo. “What’d I miss?”

Fitz and Jemma looked at each other and snorted with laughter.

“Great,” May muttered. “Abbott and Costello are back.”

“Look!” Jemma said suddenly, dropping the binoculars altogether. “Fleming’s just pulled up.”

“Let me go,” Fitz blurted out. “He’ll be less alarmed to see me than either of you.”

Jemma and May seemed to exchange a wordless conversation, and then May nodded.

“Fitz--” Jemma caught his arm as he reached for the door handle. “Ask him if he’s coming for the toga party. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents use specific codes with each other to check if someone else is hostile or friendly, and that’s the latest one. Fleming will know it, if he hasn’t been compromised.”

Fitz clambered out of the car, shutting it carefully behind him. Now would have been a great time to  _ not _ be wearing all black, lest Fleming mistake him for a burglar.

“Professor!” he called, jogging towards the man who was just mounting the front steps of a small house. “Professor Fleming!”

Fleming dropped his groceries as he turned, looking terrified. When he saw Fitz, he collapsed against the railing in relief.

“Professor Fleming,” Fitz panted, bending immediately to help him pick up his cans and vegetables. “Sorry to surprise you like that--”

“No, I just thought you were someone else. Fitz, right? Leo Fitz?”

“You remember me? Ah -- not every day you kick someone out, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s true, unfortunately, but that’s not why I remember you.” Fleming straightened his glasses and looked at Fitz shrewdly.

“You weren’t expecting Donnie Gill, by any chance, were you?”

“How did you know --?” Fleming shook his head. “No -- don’t answer that, I probably shouldn’t know. But yes, I’ve been expecting Donnie.”

“Professor, I was told to ask you if you’re coming for the toga party.”

Fleming laughed. “So you’re with S.H.I.E.L.D. now? Those codes get weirder and weirder every time. Yes, I’m coming for the toga party.” He chuckled one more time and hoisted his groceries up onto his hip. “I suppose you’re wondering if I can help you find Donnie. And indeed, I think I have something he wants.”

“What’s that?”

“You’d better come in.”

Fitz signalled to the car down the street that everything was okay and followed Fleming into his front parlor. Fleming flipped on a few lights and deposited the groceries in the kitchen before coming back to stand before Fitz.

“There was some...sensitive research I did for S.H.I.E.L.D. while I taught at MIT. When I left, I took some of it, some of the failures, some of the ideas deemed too dangerous, with me. Call it hubris, call it stupidity -- but I did it. Donnie was my assistant on some of those experiments, and I can only imagine he’ll come looking for the research.”

“Why don’t you just destroy it?”

“I’ve thought about it, believe me.” Fleming rubbed a hand across his brow. “But the drive that contains all that research contains other, incredibly valuable information. Ideas for technologies that were never fully funded, analyses of foreign spies that we couldn’t publish, even internally. And unfortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it was a good idea to give the drive a self-destruct feature. You try to wipe any of it, you wipe all of it.” He looked up at Fitz, frowning. “There’s something you might find interesting as well.”   


“What?” When Fleming regarded him cautiously, Fitz added, “There’s probably nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know. I, er, have quite high clearance in S.H.I.E.L.D.” It was a lie on face value but not in terms of intent.

“Believe me, this would be new to you.”

“It wouldn’t--” Fitz found he needed to clear his throat. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with why S.H.I.E.L.D. had a file on me while I was at MIT, would it?”

Fleming sighed. “I could tell you, but -- I think it’s better that you see. Give me a minute.”

He disappeared up the stairs to the second level. Fitz sat on the edge of the plush couch, bouncing his knee nervously.

Fleming came back clutching what appeared to be an ordinary hard drive, though Fitz was sure if it was S.H.I.E.L.D design that it would be much more complicated.

“This is it,” Fleming said bracingly, extending it to Fitz. “I hope you have a chance to look at some of it. But please, keep it. Destroy it if you have to -- I’ll leave that up to S.H.I.E.L.D. I might have gotten around to it myself, but I only just heard about Donnie Gill earlier and, well, I wasn’t sure I was ready to say goodbye.”

“We’ll see that it’s taken care of,” Fitz assured him. “Professor -- are you safe here? Would you like to come with us?”

“Oh, Donnie wouldn’t hurt me,” Fleming frowned. “He can be unstable but he’s a good kid at heart, I have to believe that.”

“If you’re sure?”

Fleming nodded, and Fitz rose and made for the door.

“And Leo--”

Fitz turned back to see Fleming smiling sadly.

“You really were one of the brightest minds to ever pass through my door. I’m sorry about how it ended.”

Fitz couldn’t do anything but nod.

Back at the car, May had gotten out, apparently because Jemma had been talking too much. Normally that would have made Fitz smile, but it barely registered.

“How’d it go?” Jemma asked, popping her head out the window.

“He gave me this,” Fitz said, handing the drive to May. “Said it might have what Donnie’s after.” 

May glanced down the street at Fleming’s house. “Should we take him in?”

“He said Donnie won’t hurt him.”

“And you trust his judgment?” Jemma was watching Fitz closely. She seemed to sense that something more had transpired.

Again, Fitz just nodded and walked around the car to get in.

He lay awake that night, debating whether or not he should have hid the drive so that he would have a chance to look at it before Jemma and May destroyed it or sent it to their headquarters or whatever it is they might have to do. If he were honest with himself, he’d been afraid of what he might find in Fleming’s research. Was he actually an alien? Were his parents serial killers and he’d been monitored all his life for latent tendencies of the same behavior? Was he actually the subject of some television programme, like in  _ The Truman Show _ ?

He’d almost worked himself up to ask May for a chance to look at the drive when Jemma knocked on his bedroom door the next morning before he’d left for work.

“Hi, Fitz,” she said softly. “I thought you might want to see this.”

He realized she was holding the drive.

“It’s not exactly protocol,” she continued, striding to his computer and plugging it in without further preamble, “but after everything you’ve done for us, I thought you deserved it.”

He watched her -- what little he could see of her face behind the curtain of hair that had fallen over her shoulder -- as she tapped through the files on the computer. “Have you already read it then?”

“No, I haven’t it. But it’s a video.” She stepped back, pointing to the screen.

“That’s Fleming’s office at MIT,” Fitz said, leaning forward.

“Fleming, as I mentioned, was recruiting prospective S.H.I.E.L.D. agents from among his students at MIT. Part of the classified information on this drive pertains to those recruitments. There are a series of videos from the interviews he did... And this one has your name on it.”

“But I never -- he never--” Fitz’s head was spinning.

“Obviously he saw what’s been obvious from the first day I met you, Fitz.” Jemma smiled down at him sadly. “That you’re brilliant, with or without the Intersect. And he saw in you the potential to do amazing things in science and security.”

“He never mentioned--”

“That’s the part I don’t understand either,” Jemma admitted. “Let’s watch the video.”

She clicked play.

“...Project Capricorn, interview 31. Subject: Leopold Fitz, third year,” Fleming was reading into the camera. He adjusted the lens and swiveled around as the door behind him opened.

But instead of Fitz, Will Daniels -- in all his broad-shouldered glory -- entered the room. Fitz felt, rather than heart, Jemma’s slight intake of breath beside him.

_ “Mr. Daniels,” Fleming said in obvious surprise. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to come back later, I have a meeting--” _

_ “With Fitz, right? Yeah, I know. Except he’s not coming. He never got the message.” _

_ “What did you--” _

_ “You can’t do this,” Will plowed on, dropping into the chair across from Fleming. “Let him walk away.” _

_ “Young Mr. Fitz is a perfect candidate for our organization, Mr. Daniels. He’ll receive the same training that you did--” _

_ “You don’t get it!” Will interrupted angrily. “Fitz is a good guy. One of the best. But he’s got too much heart for this. S.H.I.E.L.D. would break him -- whether in the lab or in the field, you put him through this and he won’t survive. Or even if his body does, Fitz, the Fitz I know, won’t survive.” _

_ “Even if I don’t recruit him, there are dozens of other embedded agents at this university, at graduate universities, who will scoop him up the first chance they get--” _

_ “What if he were to be expelled?” Will blurted out. “What if he were to cheat? Tarnish his record, yes, but it’d just be a temporary setback. Fitz is a genius, he’d bounce back, and he’d never have to deal with all the shit that comes with this life -- Lying to everyone you love, always watching over your shoulder--” _

_ “If you’re prepared to make that happen,” Fleming said slowly, “it might work.” _

The recording continued, but Fitz pushed his chair away from his desk and held his head in his hands. Jemma moved forward and paused the video.

“He had me kicked out... to save me?” he whispered. Years of pent up anger and resentment towards Will had whooshed out of him all at once, leaving emptiness and guilt and confusion.

“Will was already working for S.H.I.E.L.D. by this point,” Jemma added quietly.

“But Jemma--” Fitz looked up at her desperately, trying to grasp onto something sensical as his mind reeled with this new information. “If he had a good reason for getting me kicked out, mightn’t he have had a good reason for stealing the Intersect?”

“And for sending it to you.”

She closed the video and bent down to eject the drive.

“What -- what are you doing with that?” he asked hoarsely.

“We’re still waiting on the final determination from our superiors, but as I understand it there’s too much valuable intel on here to risk destroying it. May is negotiating a secure way to back it up or transfer it to ATCU servers, but for the time being we’ll hold onto it.”

Fitz nodded distractedly and went back to clutching his head.

If he had looked the window into the courtyard a moment later, he would have seen Jemma crying silently as she hurried to her car.  
  
  
  


Donnie Gill contacted Fitz several hours later, just before Fitz’s lunch break. He didn’t mention his own name explicitly, but Fitz got a text from an unregistered number asking him to meet at an IHOP at the Burbank mall without his handlers and he knew instantly who must have sent it.

Something in his recent reevaluation of everything he knew of Will made him decide to go. He should have told Jemma or May, he knew, but Donnie had asked him to meet at a pancake emporium in a public place, and he came with at least some recommendation from Professor Fleming. Jemma and May operated in a different world, but Fitz could still reclaim some humanity in the situation. 

Donnie Gill was terribly pale and had an anxious tic, scratching his middle finger against his thumb as he talked.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” he whispered, leaning across the table towards Fitz. “You’re the only one I trust. I remember hearing about you, how you were one of the smartest kids to ever pass through MIT--”

“I never graduated, or do they neglect that tidbit when they tell my story?” Fitz asked dully, perusing the menu.

“N-no, I think they mentioned that,” Donnie replied uncertainly, sitting back.“But still -- we’re not dissimilar, right? Kid geniuses, misunderstand by our families and friends, just trying to make sense of everything --”

“The difference is that you had a PhD at 21 and you design weapons for a living.”

“C’mon, man, you could’ve had a PhD by then too if you really tried,” Donnie chuckled, slapping Fitz’s shoulder in an awkwardly forced gesture, like it was something he’d seen on TV but never tried for himself. “You were obviously holding back--”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you in right now,” Fitz said through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t Donnie’s fault, honestly. It was just that  _ this,  _ this attempt at camaraderie, the potential meeting of minds he would find if he let Donnie in and they talked like pals -- he hadn’t had that since Will. Hunter was a right laugh but he didn’t understand technology and physics the way Fitz did. Jemma was perhaps the closest he’d come to having an equal, though they were hardly friends. And the parallels to early meetings with Will at MIT -- to finding someone just as smart, someone interested in talking to Fitz -- were giving him whiplash.

“I’m not a murderer,” Donnie insisted, setting his menu down. “I was framed, I swear. And I’m not crazy.”

Fitz shook his head slightly. “I have no evidence to the contrary as of yet--”

“You have to believe me, Fitz. One scientist to another. I don’t want the info on that disc, I want to  _ destroy  _ it. It has all the info from my recruitment, info about my family and my fears and my abilities -- I’ve already wiped myself from most governmental systems but I  _ need  _ to destroy that disc.”

“What about all the other information on it? All the research? S.H.I.E.L.D. just needs time to process it, then I’m sure they’d be happy to work with you to clear yourself from the records.”

“You’re joking, right?” Donnie scoffed. “They would  _ never  _ help me, Fitz. They love the weapons I make for them, and they’ll never let me go. I just want them to stop chasing me. You don’t understand what this life does to you -- they’ll use you up, Fitz. They don’t care an ounce about you. They’ll drain you dry.”

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, trying to erase the headache that was building there. Donnie was dramatic, that much was clear, and perhaps in need of a psychiatrist. He was also basically a kid, tangled up in problems and bureaucracy far beyond what was normal for someone his age. Fitz knew the feeling.

He doubted destroying the drive would be enough to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. from hunting Donnie for the rest of his life, but if that was what he needed to be able to go on, was it really asking that much? Surely they could transfer certain information without needing to hold on to anything Donnie-related.

“Let me bring my ... colleagues in on this,” Fitz suggested. “They’re good people, they’ll try to help you --”

“No!” Donnie cried, much too loudly, spilling his coffee as he slammed a fist on the table. Fitz looked around nervously at the other patrons staring at them. “There are no  _ good people _ in this business, Fitz. I’ve been in this game longer than you, I can tell. They just haven’t gotten to you yet. You need to go home and check your stuff for bugs. Believe me, they’re watching your every move. Your handlers don’t trust you, so why trust them?”

“They’ve saved my life on numerous occasions, for starters--”

“Because they need you. The minute that stops being true?” Donnie drew a finger across his throat. “Just look at me. I tried to throw off their chains and now they can’t wait to off me. Please, man. Help me out.”

Fitz considered it. He really, truly did. But he remembered the dozens of things that had gone wrong every time he disobeyed May or Jemma’s orders. He wanted to believe in his gut instinct and in the potential for good in this kid, so like an earlier version of himself -- though admittedly much more emotionally distraught than he’d ever been -- but he couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Donnie,” he sighed. “I want to help you, I do, but... I’m not even an agent. Like you say, I’m a tool.” He stood up, throwing a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Eat whatever you want. And when you’re ready to work with my handlers, as you call them, you can call me. Until then -- I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

“You can’t handle the truth Fitz. Because guess what? You’re as bad as they are!” Donnie shouted after him as he left the restaurant. “They’ve already messed you up! You’re believing their lies--”

These words still rang in Fitz’s ears when he entered the empty apartment half an hour later. He put his keys in the bowl by the door and stood there looking around.  _ Believe me, they’re watching your every move _ . He’d just made a decision based on blind trust of Jemma and May. He should leave it there. They knew what they were doing. He didn’t need to know whether they had bugged his home.

Except the lamp beside the door was drawing his eyes and he couldn’t look away and he crossed to it as if in a daze and examined it from top to bottom and just when he was ready to breathe a sigh of relief and vindication, his fingers closed around a dime-sized object which had no reason to be there.

He held the bug up, heart hammering.

And then he was tearing through the apartment, checking every phone, every light fixture, plants and paintings -- there were dozens of bugs, at least three in every room.

He stopped in his bedroom, panting, and threw the bugs on his bed.

His eyes fell on the picture Jemma had given him.

_ No, please no, let me just have this one thing _ \--

There was a bug behind the photograph.

He tore across the courtyard and pounded on May’s front door, nearly falling inside when she yanked it open.

“What the hell do you think you’re--”  
“What are these?” he shouted, waving a handful of the bugs in her face. She yanked him inside and slammed the door, but he barely noticed. “Why, May? Why could you  _ possibly  _ need to be spying on my family and on my own intimate moments--”

“Intimate moments?” May snorted. “Hasn’t been a problem from what I’ve heard.”

“It’s the principle!” Fitz yelled, throwing the bugs so they bounced off of May’s mantlepiece. “Do you understand how  _ violated _ I feel--”

“My  _ ears _ feel violated,” May snarled, striding towards him. “You and that  _ idiot  _ Hunter spent four hours talking about  _ sandwiches _ !”

“I stand by that conversation!” Fitz cried. “We reached some valuable conclusions and -- don’t distract me! If we’re to be a team, I need to not feel like a monkey in a zoo--”

“Yes, we’re a team, but we are not a  _ family _ , and you’d do well to remember that,” May spat. “The second we’re done with you, Simmons and I are on a plane out of this hellhole. And if you ever question my decisions again, I’ll ask the ATCU to reconsider bringing you in for  _ extensive  _ testing.”

“Jemma wouldn’t--”

“ _ Agent Simmons _ ,” May corrected sharply, “will do whatever she needs to do to protect the greater good. If that means putting you in a padded cell and bringing you out a few times a day to flash, so be it.” She kicked aside a bug that had rolled across the floor and added coolly, “By the way, I’m home sick, but shouldn’t you be at work?”

“ _ Shite _ .” 

  
  
  
  


“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” he panted as he skidded to a halt in front of the Nerd Herd station. “I know I said I’d be here at 1 with your phone--”

“Fitz, it’s okay,” Lou laughed, putting out a hand as he wobbled and nearly fell over. “Just tell me the news and all is forgiven.”

Fitz reached over the desk and pulled her phone out from where he’d wedged it under the safety manual, where no one would ever look. With a flourish and an admittedly self-satisfied grin, he presented it to her.

“Should be just like new. I even made some improvements, as you’ll notice if you--”

“Oh, Fitz!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “I seriously can’t even tell you--” She released him quickly, pretending to wipe away a tear and taking the phone from him. “I know you probably think I’m hamming it up but I’m not even kidding you, you’re my favorite person.”

“Ah, just doing my job,” Fitz stuttered, blushing.

“Nuh-uh, no false modesty, mister. To prove my gratitude--” She pulled a paper bag out of her purse. “As promised, a sandwich from my deli. Turkey, muenster, and egg bread -- I’m thinking about calling it The Fitz.”

“You named a sandwich after me?” he asked in awe, accepting the bag from her. “That’s -- possibly the coolest thing anyone’s ever done.”

“You should come by the shop sometime to taste it fresh,” she said with a coy smile.

“I -- uh--”

“Hi sweetie,” Jemma interrupted, appearing as if out of nowhere and standing much too close to him.

Lou looked at Jemma in her tight Wienerlicious uniform, then at Fitz and his mortified expression, then back at Jemma.

“I’m Jemma,” Jemma smiled, extending a hand. “Fitz’s girlfriend.”

“Ah.” Lou nodded slowly. “Hmm. Okay, cool. Uh, thanks for the phone, Fitz. And you should refrigerate that sandwich -- you wouldn’t want the Fitz to  _ make you sick _ .” 

Nostrils flaring, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the store. Fitz groaned and turned to lean his forearms on the Nerd Herd desk.

“Was that really necessary?” he demanded, glaring at Jemma. “I understand, the cover, blah blah blah, but did you  _ have  _ to make her hate me?”

“I needed to talk to you and it didn’t appear as if that conversation would be ending anytime soon,” she shrugged.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. What did he expect, honestly, that anything would go his way? “What, then? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I think you were right in your concerns about our cover. I think it’s time we make love.”

“I -- we -- hmm.” Fitz cleared his throat and tried to stand upright with one hand supporting him on the desk in what he hoped was a casual posture but his hand slipped and he nearly fell over. He decided to cross his arms. “Is that -- what -- do you -- oh?”

“If Trip is asking questions, we can’t afford to leave any potential loopholes. I’ll come over tonight and we’ll do our best to convince Trip and Daisy that we’re having a healthy amount of sex--”

“Oh bloody hell,” Fitz groaned, covering his face in his hands.

“I’m not thrilled about it either, Fitz!” Jemma snapped.

“Well, I’m glad to know you find the idea of sleeping with me so  _ disgusting _ !”

“That’s not -- I’m disappointed, if you must know. I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. hired me for my keen intellect, not my nubile body.” She slouched against the desk next to him, looking incredibly put out.

“I’m sure that’s not why they hired you,” he tried to console her. She gave him a look. “Not that you  _ don’t  _ have a nubile body -- not that I’ve noticed, or checked, but I’m sure you-- Er--”

“I’ll see you at nine,” she cut him off curtly, pushing off from the desk and hurrying towards the exit.

Fitz groaned again and smacked his head against the counter. 

  
  
  
  
  


Fitz had barely hidden the cologne bottle behind his computer before Jemma opened his bedroom door.

“Wow, Fitz. You do know we’re not  _ actually  _ sleeping together, right?”

She looked around with raised eyebrows at the candles on every surface and the lowered shades and the old R&B trickling from the speakers.

“I’m aware of the parameters of our arrangement, Jemma, thank you,” he huffed, feeling suddenly very self-conscious in his pajamas. He decided to just make straight for the bed, where the blankets could protect him. “Er -- I did mean to ask though -- we don’t have to...  _ make noises _ , or anything like that, do we? Or is there a soundtrack you play, of people--”

“I think the music is fine,” Jemma said firmly, dropping her bag on his desk chair. Fitz watched as she untied the cord on her coat and removed that as well, leaving her in just a little lacy red something --

“Oi!” Fitz cried, quickly averting his eyes, but not before he saw large swaths of bare, pale skin. “You give me a hard time for some candles and you show up wearing  _ that _ ?”

“What?” Jemma glanced down at herself, frowning. “This? Fitz, this is part of my cover, don’t be ridiculous.” She folded her coat and laid it on top of her bag.

“Well, it doesn’t cover a  _ thing _ .”

Jemma snorted as she climbed in on the opposite side of the bed. Fitz scooted farther away from her so the new dip in the mattress wouldn’t make him slide towards her.

“Fitz, if I get up in the middle of the night and run into Daisy or Trip, this is the sort of thing that I could hypothetically wear to seduce you, if we were a real couple. It’s a professional consideration.”

“World’s oldest profession, maybe,” Fitz muttered and rolled over to face away from her.

“That’s  _ rich,  _ coming from you!” she snapped as she flipped almost violently away from him as well. “The way you were  _ throwing yourself  _ at that girl in the Buy More today--”

“She was flirting with  _ me _ ! I know you may find it  _ impossible  _ to fathom, but some women actually find me  _ interesting-- _ ”

Jemma’s retort was drowned out by shouting from the other side of the wall. Fitz sucked in a breath -- he’d never heard Daisy and Trip fight before, not really, not in earnest. It was bad enough in itself, but it also brought back memories of many of the foster homes from his childhood. He shifted uncomfortably.

“You okay?” Jemma whispered behind him.

“Been better,” he mumbled.

The mattress springs squeaked as she rolled over. He could feel her warmth behind him, though she didn’t touch him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked tentatively.

He hesitated, then rolled over to face her. He kept his eyes averted from her face, which was now only about a foot away, and focused instead on fiddling with the edge of his pillowcase.

He had just made up his mind to tell her about Donnie Gill and their conversation at IHOP when the door flew open and a wild-eyed Trip burst in.

“Fitz, man, I gotta take your sister to the hospital -- I don’t know what happened, she’s been weird all day but then she started freaking out, like yelling all this shit at me, and then she just collapsed--”

Jemma and Fitz scrambled out of the bed and dashed into the hallway. Trip ran back into the bedroom he shared with Daisy and picked her carefully up from the bed, supporting her neck as he hurried with her to the front door. She looked pale and slack. 

“Oh my god, Daisy,” Fitz gasped, stumbling after Trip. “I--” He whirled to look at Jemma. “What do we--”

“Trip, we’ll be right behind you. We’ll take my car,” she said immediately, sprinting back to his room for her coat and keys.

Trip had already driven away by the time they made it to where Jemma had parked down the street from their apartment complex. May caught up to them as they were climbing in.

“I heard what happened,” she said shortly. Fitz was suddenly intensely grateful for the bugs, which she’d obviously reinstalled. “I’m coming too.”

At the hospital, Trip was pacing back and forth in a private waiting room while they examined Daisy. He looked up as Fitz pelted in.

“I don’t know what’s going on, man,” he said desperately, tears in the corners of his eyes. “I’m a doctor, I’m supposed to be able to figure this stuff out but she-- It was all at once -- There are no indications of any--” 

“Daisy’s strong, she’ll pull through,” Jemma assured him, stepping up next to him to rub his shoulder soothingly. Fitz looked away, wishing he didn’t know how good of a liar she could be.

“Doctor Triplett --” A nurse emerged from the room behind them, and Trip whirled to face him. “Doctor Johnson has high levels of pentothal in her bloodstream. We’ll do everything we can, but--”

“Pentothal?” Trip demanded. “What -- what’s that, is that a drug or something--”

“Toxic derivative of sodium thiopental,” Jemma answered. Everyone looked at her, surprised. “The victim becomes initially uncontrollably truthful, followed by near-catatonia, followed by--” She looked at Fitz and couldn’t finish the sentence. But he knew anyway.

“How d’you know all this stuff?” Trip breathed, looking bewildered.

“I studied biochemistry at university,” Jemma said impatiently. “You said Daisy was acting strange -- did that include excessive truthfulness?”

“Uh--yeah, yeah I guess so,” he replied, rubbing a hand over his head. “I thought it was normal, you know how she’s kinda straightforward anyway, but yeah, she was a little more brutally honest today--”

“What’s the timeline on this?” Fitz stepped right up to Jemma, pleading with his eyes, hoping she could fix this as his world spiralled rapidly out of control. “Weeks, days--” 

“I don’t know, Fitz,” she whispered. “I wish I did, but-- I expect it’s not more than a few hours.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” the nurse said loudly behind them, trying to regain control of the situation. “Without an antiserum of some sort--”

“I’m gonna go be with her,” Trip choked out, following the nurse away.

“You could make something,” Fitz begged Jemma. “This is your specialty--That keen intellect for which S.H.I.E.L.D. hired you, remember--?”

“There’s no time!” she cried, swiping furiously at a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “And I don’t know  _ how _ , Fitz, and if I got it wrong it would kill her for sure!” 

“I have some thoughts on that,” a voice interrupted quietly. 

Donnie Gill stood a few yards away, hands in his pockets. He smiled dully at Fitz.

“Hey, man. Sorry about your sister. Figured I needed something to force your hand.”

“You--” Fitz lunged at Donnie, but May and Jemma each grabbed one of his arms and held him back.

“Donnie Gill,” May ground out, one hand reaching slowly around to the gun tucked in the back of her jeans. “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, Fitz made it pretty clear he wouldn’t help me voluntarily -- oh, he didn’t tell you? Yeah, we hung out.”

“Fitz!” Jemma hissed.

“And he’s obviously the weakest link in this little party you’ve got going on -- the two of you would just let the nice lady doctor die, but Fitz--” Donnie smiled sardonically. “Fitz would make stupid choices to save someone he loves. Because he’s one of the good guys.”

Fitz thrashed against Jemma and May’s hold. “I tried to help you, you bastard!”

“So what’s it gonna be?” Donnie withdrew two glass vials from his pocket -- one red, one bluish green. “This is a little something I worked on with Professor Fleming. We were trying to perfect a truth serum that didn’t have the fatal side effects but oops, we never really got around to that part. Lucky for you I’ve got an antiserum in this other bottle here. Bring me the drive so that I can destroy it and I’ll give you the antiserum and you’ll be able to save your sister, no harm done.”

“Not a chance,” May snapped.

“May,” Fitz pleaded, trying to twist to look at her. 

“Fitz, there is so much information on that drive that we haven’t had time to process! You could be letting him erase data that would ultimately save thousands of lives.”

“What about Daisy’s life? Doesn’t she matter?”

“We can’t save everyone,” May said quietly.

“No!” Fitz shouted, and with a tremendous effort he broke free from their hold. His momentum sent him careening across the room, and he collided with Donnie.

The vials went flying as Donnie threw up his hands and started falling backwards. Fitz watched as May and Jemma dove as if in slow motion.

The sound of shattering glass broke the moment. They all looked around, panting, to see what had happened.

Jemma held up a hand triumphantly -- she had caught the vial of antiserum.

On the floor, just inches from May’s hand, were the shards of the vial that had contained the poison.

“Oh dear,” Jemma whimpered.

Donnie made a break for it, throwing open the doors and sprinting out into the busy hospital hallway.

“What -- what does this mean?” Fitz gasped, looking around at them.

“We’re contaminated as well,” May growled. “So if there’s anything you’ve been meaning to tell us, you can expect it to come out in the next hour or so as you’ll find it really hard to lie.”

“Fitz, you have to take this,” Jemma said hurriedly, darting to his side with the antiserum. “I imagine wherever Donnie’s heading he has more of the antiserum but we might not get it in time--”

“I can’t!” he protested, pushing her hands away. “I’ve got to get it to Daisy--”

“Fitz, I’m sorry, but it has to be you. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now but you’re still the Intersect -- you’re much too valuable.”

Fitz looked down at the vial. “I’ll agree to take it and then I’ll run like hell to Daisy’s room.” He shook his head violently and gaped at them. “Bloody hell, that stuff works fast.”

“If you do that I’ll chase you, put my gun to your head, and threaten to shoot you,” May said, her voice strangely relaxed.

“Would you actually shoot me?” Fitz demanded.

“Of course not.” May scowled. “Damn truth serum.”

Fitz darted through the hallways, stopping every few nurses’ stations to get directions. They found Daisy one floor up, newly attached to an IV and a series of monitors. Jemma distracted Trip while Fitz ran to Daisy’s side and carefully tipped the vial of antiserum into her mouth.

  
“You’ll be okay now, Daisy,” he murmured, smoothing her hair back. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Back in the hallway, he held a quick conference with Jemma and May.

“We have to find Donnie if we want to live to see the sunrise,” Jemma whispered, “and frankly my brain feels like canned peaches and I’m having trouble focusing.”

“Oh, that’ll be easy, actually,” Fitz replied. They both looked at him in surprise. “When I met up with Donnie the other day I slipped a tracking solution into his coffee. I had hoped we wouldn’t have to use it, but--”

“I could kiss you,” May said, then swore. “I hate this stuff.”

The tracker led them to an abandoned office building off the highway. May and Jemma both reached for the door handle at the same time.

“I got it,” they said simultaneously.

“Well, who’s better at it?” Fitz demanded impatiently.

“I am!” Jemma cried, beaming, and May, driven by truth serum, grumbled her agreement. Jemma had the lock picked in seconds.

They swept the first floor and found no sign of Donnie. On the second floor, they reached a closed door and exchanged looks. Jemma knocked.

“Who’s there?” Donnie called.

“S.H.I.E.L.D., the ATCU, and me -- I’m a little harder to explain,” Fitz yelled back.

May rolled her eyes and shot the door open.

Donnie was cowering in the corner, cradling a box of antiserum vials. He was sweating and pale and clearly hadn’t managed to take the antiserum himself yet.

“No kill shots,” Jemma murmured to May, and Fitz felt unnecessarily warm and fuzzy. “Donnie, why don’t you slide those over to us?”

“I just want to be left alone,” Donnie whimpered, pulling on his short hair with one hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m so  _ tired _ \-- Please just let me go--”

“You know we can’t do that,” May replied firmly, stepping cautiously forward, gun still raised. “You’re too dangerous.”

“Guys --” Fitz put a hand on Jemma’s arm. “He needs psychiatric help, not to be--” He thought of May’s words and grimaced. “Not be locked in a padded cell and pumped dry for information.” 

“I’m sorry, Fitz,” Jemma said quietly, lowering her gun as May took the antiserum away from Donnie and helped him to his feet, tying his hands behind his back. “But we can’t save everyone.”

May helped Donnie take the antiserum then drank some herself. As she escorted him outside to the car, Jemma handed Fitz a vial and raised one to her own lips. 

“Wait!” Fitz said suddenly.

She looked at him, the glass a centimeter from her mouth. “What?”

“Just--” Fitz scratched anxiously at his ear. “This may be my only chance to get something true from you.”

Jemma lowered the vial again, looking wary. “Fitz--”

“Look, Jemma, I know you’re just doing your job, but sometimes I just think -- it feels real. It feels like more than that. And I know it’s crazy even to ask but I have to know --  is there ever a chance that we could be... that? Be real?”

Jemma looked at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. At last she pressed her lips together and looked away. “I’m sorry, Fitz. But no.”

Fitz took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Thanks for being honest, anyway. Not that it was really your choice.” Before he could make the moment any worse, he threw the antiserum back like a shot and let the vial fall to the ground. “I’ll go check on May.”

He left Jemma standing in the middle of the deserted office. 

  
  
  
  


An ATCU agent in LA came the next day to pick up Donnie and the drive, which would be parsed and analyzed before any dangerous research was expunged. Fitz, whose identity as the Intersect was still a secret even from most of the two agencies, didn’t go to the meet-up. Instead, he took a day off from work and stayed home with Trip to care for Daisy as she recovered.

But he’d made a promise to himself, the night before when he’d thought everything was over. So in the early afternoon, he drove to Wienerlicious and waited until the last of the lunch rush had cleared out before he approached the counter.

“Hi Fitz,” Jemma said brightly. “How’s Daisy?”

“We have to break up,” he blurted out.

“Oh.” She stopped stacking trays and looked at him, surprised.

“I mean, fake break up our fake relationship,” he continued, desperate to get this out before he lost the nerve. “At this point we must’ve established enough grounds for you to be in my life -- we can pretend to be friends or something--” He swallowed and planted his hands on his lower back, looking at the ground. “I just can’t keep pretending to date you, because the only one I’m fooling is myself. And yesterday my sister almost died, and I almost died -- but also yesterday, this cute girl who laughs at my jokes came into the Buy More and gave me a sandwich she’d made just for me. And if there’s any chance she doesn’t totally hate me... I need to have a real life, Jemma, and I can’t do that as long as we’re doing this. I want to set things right with Lou and maybe have a chance to ask her out, so... we, you and I, we have to break up.” He finally looked up at her, chewing his lip nervously. “We can talk about the logistics of our cover later, but... Yeah. I hope you understand.”

He waited for her to respond, but when she just continued to look at him, he tapped the counter with his knuckles, nodded awkwardly, and left the store.

Jemma’s phone rang seconds after he was gone.

“So, when you were affected, did you say anything to compromise yourself?” May asked.

Jemma watched Fitz cross the parking lot, a new bounce in his step. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath.

“No. But if I hadn’t been trained to withstand pentathol I might have.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter combined four -- count 'em, FOUR!! -- episodes of Chuck so hopefully I managed to make something coherent out of it. :) :) Please leave feedback below or write me on Tumblr -- I'm always looking for ways to improve this!!


	6. Fitz vs. The Imported Hard Salami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is dating Lou but his double life keeps getting in the way. Things with Jemma are more confusing than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only used one episode for this chapter because... well, you'll see. ;)

Fitz felt like he was walking on clouds. For the first time in weeks -- for the first time since Will’s email -- he felt almost normal. May and Jemma were still lurking at the edges of his life, but he had been on three dates with Lou and was planning for a fourth.

Hunter seemed to be taking Fitz’s fake break-up with Jemma harder than anyone.

“Fitz, you know I love you, but you’ve made a  _ terrible  _ decision, mate.”

“Would you just drop it?” Fitz sighed, looking up from the service report he’d been trying to fill out for fifteen minutes. “Jemma’s great, sure, but I didn’t -- I didn’t see a future there, honestly. I didn’t want to waste time in a relationship where she would never feel the same.”

“You sure about that?” Hunter muttered. “Because she’s here.”

Fitz looked up sharply. Jemma was standing just inside the entrance of the Buy More, twisting the ends of her sweater. She tilted her head towards the home cinema room and darted away down the aisles.

“It’s not too late!” Hunter hissed as Fitz followed Jemma.

“Hey,” Fitz said quietly as he shut the door behind him.

“Hi, Fitz.” Jemma chewed the inside of her cheek and studied her nails carefully before she spoke. “I know you’ll not be happy to hear this, but I think it’s a bad idea, this break-up.”

“Miss me already?” Fitz joked.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Fitz carefully did  _ not  _ look at what that did for her chest in her low-cut Wienerlicious top. “For the cover, Fitz. It’ll look suspicious if you have another girlfriend but I still maintain such a presence in your life.”

Fitz pushed his hands into his pockets and broke her gaze. “Well, that’s not going to work for me. I can work with you when I have to, Jemma, but I can’t  _ be  _ with you.”

“Fitz,” she said gently. “I could understand how you would think -- how you might have gotten confused--” She huffed with irritation. “It’s easy to talk to you. I admit that. And I’m saying that as Jemma, not as Agent Simmons. In another life, we might have been friends. But it’s a cover.”

Friends.  _ Might have been _ . “Yeah, you’ve made that quite clear. But if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sit out on this emotional rollercoaster from here on in.”

Jemma’s mouth tightened into a straight line. She regarded him for a moment with open disappointment, then shrugged. “In that case, I suppose I’ll have to sell it.”

“What d’you--”

But in an instant her whole face had changed. Her eyebrows came together and her chin started to tremble. Thick tears shone in her eyes.

“Jemma,” Fitz said, horrified, “are you okay?”

She whirled away from him and dashed out of the cinema room. He followed her but in her performance of distraught ex he was clearly not meant to catch her.

“Bloody hell,” Hunter whistled as he stepped up beside Fitz, watching Jemma hurry out of the store with her head down. “Heartbreaker.”

He clapped Fitz on the shoulder and left him to his very confusing muddle of emotions.   
  
  
  


“Your ex had a little talk with me,” Lou commented as they strolled hand-in-hand down the esplanade on Fitz’s lunch break.

“Oh god,” Fitz muttered. “She can be a bit...dramatic.” He still felt guilty, even though Jemma’s tears had been an act. “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know, ‘he’s a great guy, don’t hurt him’, the usual.”

“She said that?” Fitz asked in surprise.

“What, you think she’d  _ want  _ me to hurt you?” Lou laughed.

“No, it’s just -- we didn’t end on great terms.”

“She was surprisingly cordial,” Lou mused. “Though I still think it’s weird you guys still hang out so much.”

They arrived in front of her deli and Fitz dropped her hand.

“This is me.” Lou smiled up at him. “Thanks for the hot date.”

“You know I’m only using you for your sandwiches, right?” Fitz grinned back at her and gave her a quick peck. He knew all of her colleagues -- some of whom were her older brothers -- were watching from inside the store, so he left it at that.

“Careful, or I’ll retract that offer.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and squeezed his hand affectionately before turning to go inside.

As he watched her go, Fitz saw a flyer on the door and flashed -- passport, map, crate, yacht, handshake, tattoo.

“Hey Lou,” he called. “What’s this?”

She poked her head back around to look at what he was pointing to. “Oh, that’s -- ugh. My ex owns Club Ares and is having a party tonight and he asked me to put up a flyer. I’m not planning on going or anything.”

“Maybe we should,” Fitz blurted out.

Lou frowned at him. “You feeling okay, Fitz? You got uncomfortable when we went to karaoke -- a club is, like, ten times worse. Besides... you don’t want to meet my ex. He’s a nightmare. The last time he found out I was dating a guy he busted up his car and threatened to kill him. We’re not going, Fitz.” She shook her head and let the door fall shut behind her.   
  
  


  


“You’re going, Fitz.”

Fitz groaned as May took out her surveillance equipment.

“I suggested that as a knee-jerk reaction to the flash, May, not to volunteer myself for actual danger. Especially not if Lou’s ex plans to tear me limb from limb.”

“Lou’s ex Stavros and his father Yari are smugglers,” Jemma explained, laying out a series of photos in front of Fitz. “They’ve never been charged with anything but it’s widely assumed among intelligence circles that they’re trafficking weapons.”

“What, like, guns?”

“Worse. The latest tech. Experimental models that are at best dangerously faulty and at worst weapons of mass destruction.”

“Hang on,” Fitz interrupted, shoving the pictures together. “You don’t actually think  _ Lou  _ is involved with this, do you?”

“No,” Jemma replied quickly, but May didn’t answer, and Jemma relented. “I didn’t think so. But our superiors said it’s a possibility we have to consider.”

“No way,” Fitz protested, standing up so quickly he nearly knocked Jemma’s head with his shoulder.

“She came out of nowhere and insinuated herself into your life too quickly,” May said firmly. “We have to at least look into it.”

“Have you considered that maybe she’s just  _ into me _ ? It’s not that unreasonable.” May snorted and Fitz squeaked, “I’m charming! In my own way.”

“That’s what I said,” Jemma assured him.

“You did?” he asked, surprised.

She shrugged and looked away quickly.

May held out an earpiece and transmitter to Fitz. “It may be nothing, but if Stavros and his father are organizing a shipment right now, your position could help us take him down. Whether or not Lou is involved.”

“We’ll be on comms and we’ll be right outside,” Jemma assured Fitz. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll be there before you can say ‘salami’.” She patted his shoulder and went to help May transfer equipment into a van.

“You couldn’t have chosen a shorter word?” Fitz muttered.   
  
  
  
  


Lou remained incredulous about Fitz’s sudden interest in the Burbank party scene, but Fitz pleaded until she agreed to go with him to Club Ares.

“You owe me so much,” she grumbled as they wound through the crowd.

Fitz smiled guiltily at her and took her hand. This might be a mission, but it was still a date, technically. Sort of. In theory. He was beginning to understand how Jemma might have felt when they were fake-dating. At least  _ he  _ was actually interested in Lou for more than her value as assessed by the US government.

May, who had hacked into the security cameras, kept up a steady and very distracting stream of information in Fitz’s ear about Stavros’s whereabouts, so he had about ten seconds to prepare himself before the man appeared before them.

“Lou!” Stavros exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and leaning forward to kiss her on each cheek. Fitz saw her grimace slightly but she’d schooled her face back into a polite smile by the time Stavros pulled back. “So lovely to see you. We weren’t expecting you. And who’s this?”

“I’m nobody,” Fitz said automatically, but Lou wound her arm through his and introduced him determinedly as her boyfriend.

“Well, any friend of Lou’s is a friend of mine,” Stavros said cheerfully. “Let me buy you both a drink.”

“That’s okay--” Lou tried to wave him off.

“Do it, Fitz,” May ordered over the comms.

“Actually, yes to the drink, please,” Fitz said stiffly.

Lou gaped at him. Stavros beamed and waved them towards a roped-off VIP section.

“Fitz, you know I can’t stand this guy. He’s bad news and the less time we spend with him the better. Please don’t make me do this.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Fitz turned away from her so he wouldn’t have to see the devastation on her face or reveal the roiling self-hatred on his own.

Lou followed him slowly. When they reached Stavros, she sat on the cushioned bench a full foot away from him, brushing away his hand when he reached for hers.

She was silent while Stavros bought them several rounds of shots. Lou’s ex, who had seemed decent enough upon their first meeting, grew more and more covertly threatening as he drank. 

“You have a tiny neck, Fitz!” Stavros shouted, grabbing the back of Fitz’s neck with a giant hand and shaking him slightly. “Like a chicken!”

“Thank you?” Fitz spluttered, trying to wrench himself away.

“Have you ever snapped a chicken’s neck, Fitz?”

“N-no--”

“Nasty business. Human neck’s a bit harder, but the same in principle.”

“Fitz, your ex is here,” Lou said dully, pointing out into the crowd.

Fitz’s stomach dropped. This was the date from hell, surely.

“I’ll be right back,” he shouted to Lou over the music. “I’m sorry, she’s just having trouble letting go, you know--”

He scrambled away from them and pushed through the dancing bodies until he met Jemma. She looked out of place among the glammed-up revelers in her simple black tank-top and ponytail.

“What are you doing here?” Fitz yelled.

“What?” Jemma shouted back.

To be heard, they had to lean towards each other so that their lips were pressed against each other’s ears. Jemma held onto Fitz’s shoulder with one hand to prevent herself from being knocked over by some of the more energetic dancers, and her fingertips just barely brushed his neck above his collar.

“I said, what are you doing here?” he repeated. 

“I wanted to check whether you’re alright! You sounded nervous!”

“I’m on a date!” he yelled, bewildered. She’d been absolutely silent on comms, and her decision to come into the club was threatening both the real date and the mission for which it was a cover. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m fine!”

She pulled back to look at him, as if searching his face to verify his statements, then glanced over his shoulder.

“Your girlfriend is leaving.”

Fitz twisted around, Jemma’s hand falling from his shoulder. Lou was indeed working her way down from the VIP section, clutching her purse to her and heading for the exit.

Without another word to Jemma, he darted through the crowd.

“Lou!” he panted. “I’m sorry, she won’t bother us again--”

“Fitz,” Lou sighed, looking exhausted. “You spent the whole night either with my ex or yours. I wanted this to work, I really did, but you can’t seem to decide who you want to be with. I’d say check in with me when you’ve got it figured out but I’m not waiting around.”

Fitz opened his mouth to protest but May’s voice in his ear cut him off.

“Stavros’s father Yari just entered from a back room. He’s headed to talk to his son. You have to get close enough to listen, Fitz.”

“Lou--” Fitz said desperately, but she gave him a last disappointed half-smile and pushed through to the exit.

“I hate you,” Fitz muttered into the transmitter as he fought his way back towards the VIP section. “Let the record show that I really, truly--”

A bouncer put up a hand to stop his progress.

“No, I was just in there--” Fitz craned his neck to look for Stavros. “Ask him, we’re friends--”

“He’s in a meeting,” the bouncer growled.

Fitz swore and spun away. Stavros and Yari were indeed in conference, heads very close over a tablet.

“Find another way in!” May barked.

Fitz looked around frantically. A waitress was headed towards their table with a tray of drinks and shots, so without thinking twice Fitz pulled his transmitter from the underside of his lapel and dropped it on the tray as it went by.

He still had a transmitter in his watch, so he exited the club and confirmed the location of the van.

“Mission accomplished,” May reported when he arrived. “Yari’s expecting a shipment of something sensitive tonight. They didn’t give a location so we’re going to wait for them to leave and then tail them.”

Jemma avoided Fitz’s eyes but said quietly as he climbed into the van behind her, “I’m sorry about your date, Fitz.”

He didn’t reply, just looked sullenly out the window while May pulled around the side of the building so they could watch Stavros’s car and wait.

Stavros left the club without his father fifteen minutes later. May tailed him through the city, but rather than leading them to shipping docks or an airport, he drove to the very mall where Lou had her deli.

It had to be a coincidence, Fitz tried to convince himself as they idled around the corner where they could see and not be seen. Stavros locked his car and leaned against the trunk, checking his phone.

A few minutes later, a second car pulled up and Lou got out.

“No no no no no,” Fitz moaned.

“Maybe she’s just cheating on you?” Jemma suggested.

“Is that supposed to make me feel  _ better _ ?” Fitz snapped.

Stavros greeted Lou like he had in the club, with a kiss on each cheek but nothing more. He opened his trunk and pulled out a crate.

“Is that the shipment?” May asked dubiously.

“One way to find out!” Before they could stop him, Fitz threw the side door of the van open and sprinted across the parking lot.

“Fitz!” Lou cried as he pattered to a halt next to them, panting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Really, Lou?” he exclaimed. “You give me crap about being a little confused about my feelings for Jemma and then you’re mixed up with  _ him! _ ” He gestured to Stavros. “Importing god-knows-what -- come to think of it, your family is Italian, aren’t they? Is your whole deli just a front for the mafia?”

“Fitz, please--”

But he gripped one seam of the crate and wrenched it open.

Several dozen varieties of cured meat fell onto the pavement.

“What--”

“Stavros imports illegal salami for me,” Lou sighed. “It doesn’t have preservatives so it would go bad before it makes it through customs.”

Fitz realized that two government employees were listening to Lou incriminate herself. While salami smuggling was certainly not a criminal offense into which S.H.I.E.L.D. or the ATCU would be likely to investigate, Stavros was still clearly part of something larger and Lou was placing herself within that very messy network.

Fitz has already lost his transmitter but his watch would be relaying everything that was said. He was fairly sure his relationship with Lou was over -- it had barely ever begun -- but he didn’t wish harassment or imprisonment upon her.

So he slipped his watch off and let it fall onto the ground behind him. He stepped on it with one heel, hearing it crunch slightly and hoping that was enough.

“So, you’re  _ not  _ with the mafia?” he confirmed hopefully.

“Of course not,” Lou snapped. “But you’re obviously with the FDA or something. Remember when you said you were using me for my sandwiches? You weren’t lying, huh?”

Lou stooped and collected as many of the sausages as she could. Stavros helped her load them back into the crate, which they shifted into her car. She cast a last withering look Fitz’s way before she drove away.

Fitz felt like the absolute scum of the earth.

“I’m actually rather glad you showed up,” Stavros chuckled, strolling back towards Fitz where he stood next to the open trunk. “Saved me a trip.”

“Sorry?”

Stavros held up the transmitter Fitz had dropped on the tray in the club. “I think you left this.”

“That’s not mine,” Fitz blurted. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Fingerprints, Fitz. They’re annoying little things, aren’t they?”

“I was just jealous,” Fitz lied desperately. “It was obvious Lou was still in love with you and--”

Stavros barked a laugh. “Lou can’t stand me. She appreciates the business we do but otherwise she wants nothing to do with me. And you knew that. So tell me, who are you working with?”

“Fitz, everything okay here?”

For the second time that night, Jemma had stepped foolishly and probably against protocol into a dangerous situation just to check on him. He could see that the hand resting on her hip was tensed mere inches from the gun in the back of her waistband, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice.

“Really?” Stavros sighed. “You expect me to just believe that you followed your ex-boyfriend from the club?”

With no warning, he drew a gun and shot Fitz directly in the chest.   
  
  
  
  


Fitz woke up feeling very, very uncomfortable.

His hands were tied behind his back and he’d been jammed into a tight, dim space that kept bouncing around.

_ Am I in a washing machine? _

Because  _ that  _ was the most logical conclusion.

Something warm and soft was pressed against him, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he recognized the ponytail tickling his face.

“Jemma!” he gasped, straining against his ties. “Jemma, are you alright?”

She groaned and stretched as best she could with her arms and feet tied. They were practically spooning and her movement pressed her hands in a  _ very  _ unhelpful and uncomfortable place on Fitz’s front.

She seemed to have realized the same thing, as she flipped herself over awkwardly so that she was facing him, their faces several inches apart.

“They must have been stun guns,” she muttered, rolling her neck to bring feeling back into her body.

“Unless this is hell.”

“Hell  _ would  _ involve being trapped in a car trunk with you, wouldn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Once again, Fitz, your rash actions have brought us nothing but trouble. If you would just  _ stay in the car _ for once--”

“I assume you have a plan?” he ground out.

She huffed. “May will be able to track your watch--”

“About that,” Fitz cut her off guiltily. “I may have destroyed it back in the parking lot.”

Jemma’s mouth dropped open -- or sideways, really, from this vantage point. “You can’t be serious.”

“I was trying to protect Lou!” he protested.

“Always the romantic,” Jemma snapped.

“Jealous?” Fitz bit out.

“It was  _ foolish _ , Fitz.” 

“Well, sorry I’m not Mr. Perfect Spy-Man. We can’t all be Will Daniels--”

“Who’s jealous now?” Jemma demanded triumphantly.

“Me, jealous of you and Will? Never!” 

“Are you quite finished?” she snarled.

“For now.”

“Good. Then shut up. You’re sucking up all the air.”

She flipped back over, muttering to herself about male stupidity.

Fitz was furious. He’d been trying to help with the mission and she had the  _ gall  _ to be mad at  _ him _ ? After  _ she’d  _ ruined his first real relationship since MIT? She was the most infuriating, arrogant, ridiculous know-it-all--

But  _ god  _ her hair smelled so good.

He shifted back as far as he could go to put space between himself and her arse. 

  
  
  
  
  


They were yanked out of the trunk what felt like an hour later and frog-marched into a warehouse, where they were thrust into two plastic chairs.

Yari, Stavros’s father, walked towards them with a sickly smile.

“So, who wants to tell me what I need to know? I’ve only got --” He checked his watch. “Seven minutes until my little arrival needs me to reenter a code. If I don’t do that, we’ll all be in trouble.”

Jemma stared straight ahead. Fitz tried to copy her frightening calm.

“Just tell me who else knows about our package and I won’t have to torture you.” Yari gestured to one of his henchman, who brought forward a toolkit and laid it out on the table next to his boss. Yari ran his fingertips over the drills, wrenches, and nails within.

“You don’t have to torture us,” Fitz said quickly.

“Fitz, be quiet,” Jemma hissed.

“We know about the salami,” Fitz explained, hoping they would, like Lou, assume them to be agents of the Food and Drug Administration. “But we won’t tell a soul, we promise. We’ll sign off on whatever you need--”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to torture  _ you, _ ” Yari chuckled. “I was going to start with her.” His gaze slid to Jemma.

“No!” Fitz shouted, rocking his chair as he fought against his restraints. “Please--”

But before he could offer himself up as a sacrifice, Jemma’s hands broke free, clutching a knife she’d hidden god knows where, and she drove the blade into the leg of the henchman hovering over her. He swore and collapsed. Another man dove for Jemma but she’d cut her feet free and caught him in the chest with a direct kick.

Gunshots rang out but it was May, swooping in from the side. Fitz tipped his chair over to get as low to the ground as he could as May and Jemma fought their way through the dozen or so men.

When the sounds of fighting receded, Jemma scrambled across the floor to Fitz and cut him free, rubbing his wrists and ghosting her fingertips over his cheek and forehead to check for injuries from his fall.

“Did you see where Yari went?” May demanded.

“He must’ve gotten away.” Jemma helped Fitz stand. “We’ll go after him--”

“No, I’ll go.” May checked the cartridge in her gun. “You need to get to Dock 14. The deli girl told me that’s where Stavros and Yari get most of their shipments. Find out what the package is and call it in if necessary.”

Jemma nodded and took off for the exit, Fitz stumbling behind her. Outside in the night, she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Fitz,  you heard what Yari said. That package is almost definitely a bomb, and without the code we can’t.... You have to run.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jemma. I’m going with you.”

“You’re not going near a live bomb, Fitz!”

“I know, Intersect, too valuable, government secrets, blah blah blah.” Fitz shrugged and ran towards Dock 14 before she could stop him.

“Ugh,  _ Fitz! _ ”

Dock 14 was empty except for a single wooden crate, twice Fitz’s height and the same length in width and depth. Jemma used her knife to wedge the side of the crate open and sent it crashing down onto the surface of the dock.

“That’s not good, is it?” Fitz asked, blanching.

The bomb was  _ huge _ . It was shaped like a pill, if pills were larger than people, with a solid metal exterior and a timer that read 00:00:58.

“I’m guessing that’s not in minutes?”

Jemma ran forward and pulled off a plate underneath the timer, exposing dozens of wires and a keypad to enter a code. Her hands flew over the wires but there was no logic to her motions and Fitz could tell she didn’t know what to do.

“Did you flash?” she asked desperately without turning.

“No!” he cried, gripping his head with both hands as if he could force a reaction.

“That’s enough, Fitz, you have to go.” Jemma stood and turned to look at him, her jaw set with determination. “I’ll stay and try to defuse it.”

“That’s insane, I’m not leaving you here. We need a new plan.”

“Fitz,  _ go _ , that’s an order!”

“No!”

Jemma pulled her gun out of her waistband and leveled it at his chest. “I told you to leave, Fitz!”

“Oh, so you’ll  _ shoot  _ me to protect me from being blown up? Great plan, Agent Simmons, really top notch.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Jemma shouted desperately, eyes glinting with unshed tears all of a sudden.

“I’d prefer to consider this a rare moment of courage,” Fitz said with a calm he certainly wasn’t feeling. “Seems you bring out the worst in me.”

“And you in me,” Jemma snarled, shoving her gun away again and stepping up to him, eyes blazing.

A beep from the bomb drew both their eyes back to the timer.

It read 00:00:10.

“It was nice knowing you, Jemma,” Fitz whispered, and then he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end to come.

But instead of an explosion tearing his body apart, seconds later he felt Jemma’s hands on either side of his face and his eyes flew open in time to see her surge up onto her tiptoes to kiss him, hard, on the mouth, as if she needed to, as if with death about to take them this was what she wanted to die doing. For a moment he froze, as the combination of her desperate lips and tiny nips with her teeth and her probing tongue and her fingers slipping off his ears and into his hair was just  _ too much _ , but then one of her hands slid insistently around to the back of his neck to pull him in and she was pressed against him and he finally returned the kiss with all the fervency he’d tried to deny in their mere weeks of knowing each other. She was pressed fully against him and it still wasn’t enough so he put his arms around her waist to pull her closer but it still wasn’t enough so she grabbed his ugly Nerd Herd tie to draw him down to her  _ but it still wasn’t enough. _

And in the same second that he thought that no kiss in history had ever felt, could ever feel, would ever feel this incredible, he realized that it had been more than ten seconds and yet they were still alive.

Jemma seemed to have had the same thought and she pulled back. Her eyes fluttered open and Fitz actually felt himself stop breathing. Never, even cramped in the back of Yari’s car, had he been this close to Jemma -- close enough to see the large fleck of gold in her left eye or the trio of freckles on the inside of the bridge of her nose, right below her eyebrow.

Her mouth, like his, was still open from kisses and now, he assumed, from shock. She recovered first and released his tie, settling back on her heels and accidentally brushing her nose against his in the process. The contact sent a tingle through his already-sensitive system.

Fitz quickly withdrew his arms from around her and wiped his hands on his trousers. Had his arms always felt this heavy and useless? He found that where a moment ago he couldn’t stop staring, now it was impossible to meet her eyes. 

“The good news is we’re alive,” Jemma said very quietly, clearing her throat delicately. 

Fitz chanced a glance at her. Her cheeks were quite flushed and she touched her swollen lips gingerly -- Fitz felt a simultaneous rush of pride and guilt that that was a result of his kisses.

“The bad news,” she continued, “is that this leaves us in rather an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s completely comfortable on my end,” Fitz murmured, then blushed furiously. “If you must know.”

A small crinkle appeared in Jemma’s brow, but it lifted her eyebrows up rather than down and together. She opened her mouth--

“Oh good, you’re not dead.” May lowered her gun as she ran towards them. “What happened?”

“The bomb didn’t go off,” Fitz blurted as Jemma took a large step away from him.

“Yeah, I see that, Sherlock.  _ Why  _ didn’t the bomb go off?”

“He’s really more of a Watson--” Jemma cut in, then blushed and turned to face the bomb -- or not-bomb, as it were. She tentatively stepped forward until she was right next to it.

“Simmons--” May said warningly. Fitz didn’t say anything but his stomach was tight with worry.

“Hang on,” Jemma muttered distractedly. She placed her hands on top of the domed surface and followed a ridge around the side.

She knelt behind it and examined something they couldn’t see.

“It’s not a bomb,” she called. “It’s a containment unit.”

“You couldn’t have realized that when we were freaking out about dying?” Fitz cried, throwing his hands into the air.

“I made a mistake, Fitz -- I was a bit  _ distracted! _ ” Jemma snapped. Their eyes met and she flushed again. “Not by -- by the  _ bomb _ , I meant. I didn’t have time to get a proper read on this technology. I’ve not got a  _ computer  _ in my brain like  _ some  _ of us--”

“I can’t make myself flash whenever I feel like it!” Fitz shot back. “‘Oh, hello, Intersect, it’s me, Fitz, checking in -- have you got a moment? I was just hoping you could take a look at this potentially lethal explosive device and run it through your database and let me know what you find. I can wait.’ It doesn’t work like that!”

“I  _ know,  _ or have you forgotten that S.H.I.E.L.D.  _ designed  _ it?”

“Will you two both shut up!” May shouted.

They looked away from each other, dipping their heads like scolded children.

“Containment unit for what, Agent Simmons?” May asked with deadly calm.

“I don’t know.” Jemma circled the not-bomb one more time and shrugged helplessly. “We won’t know until we open it. And for that we’d need--”

“I can do it.”

Fitz and Jemma both looked at May, shocked. She was staring straight at the containment unit.

“The ATCU designed these things. They’ve made a few changes, which is why neither of us recognized this one -- but I’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to deal up-close with a few containment units.”

She strode towards it.

“That’s a story I’d like to hear,” Fitz muttered to Jemma as they hovered just out of May’s reach.

“You and I both,” she murmured back.

May pulled a tiny device from her belt -- it looked like a Swiss army knife but with far more and far sharper tools. She worked on what they’d misdiagnosed as the container’s fuse, her back hiding her work from them, until there was a slight click and a hiss of air as the upper half of the unit lifted slightly.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” May said grimly and pushed the lid up without further ado.

They crowded around her to peer in nervously.

The container was filled with various gases, some more opaque than the surrounding air, and they all coughed a bit and waved it aside.

And then Fitz wished they hadn’t.

Jemma gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Even May whispered, “Well I’ll be damned.” Fitz felt like he was going to be sick. 

Lying inside, prone and unconscious but with a slight rise and fall of his chest which suggested life, was Will Daniels. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!


	7. Fitz vs. The Nemesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a month since I've updated and I am SO SORRY but there are so many drabbles to be written!!! Hope this update is okay!!

Fitz had wanted to tell Hunter about the new superspy aspect of his life dozens of times over the past weeks, just to have someone to talk to, someone who understood what it would be like to go from zero to 60 at the opening of an email.

All those instances paled in comparison to the need Fitz now felt for a sympathetic ear.

Because Will Daniels, his former friend and more recently nemesis, was not only alive but was in the very next room.

“This is a bad idea,” Fitz repeated, turning away from the two-way mirror to appeal once more to May and Jemma. “Why me?”

“He trusts you,” Jemma answered soothingly.

“He trusts you, doesn’t he?” Fitz shot back. “Weren’t you two partners?”

“Before he went rogue, yes. We didn’t end on great terms.” Jemma scowled and crossed her arms, turning away. Fitz looked to May expectantly.

“I shot him, so...” She shrugged. “He’s probably not my biggest fan.”

“You can do this, Fitz,” Jemma murmured, guiding him by the elbow towards the door. “Just -- be careful.”

He glanced down at her, at her hand on his skin, at her eyes looking straight ahead, and tried -- failing miserably -- to not think of the moment they’d shared just the night before, lips locked and blood pounding.

It made it somehow worse, knowing that kissing Jemma was that electric.

He snapped his gaze away from her lips and stepped slowly into the containment room.

Will was strapped to a hospital bed but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. He had no right to look that good, especially considering he was the walking undead. He seemed somehow, even after months spent essentially in hibernation, more robust, more muscular, more vital than when Fitz had last seen him.

Which had been standing on the steps of their apartment building, watching silently as Fitz moved out after being expelled. Admittedly, Will had been trying to save Fitz from being dragged into the very world in which he was now ensnared... but still.

“Hey,” Fitz said, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey...man. What’s up?”

Had he ever said ‘man’ before in his life?

“Who are you?” Will demanded.

_ That  _ was unexpected. “It’s me -- Fitz. Your old buddy, old pal--”

“You’re not Fitz.” Will laid back down as if the conversation were over.

“Nnnno, I actually am, though.” Fitz looked down at himself -- had he changed that much? “I know I’ve filled out a bit -- I cut my hair--”

“You can go to hell,” Will snapped. “I don’t know how they got you to look so much like him but whoever you are, you can just go to hell.”

Fitz turned right around and walked up to the mirror. He couldn’t see May and Jemma but he knew they were watching. “I’d like to come out now, please,” he hissed.

There was no response. Bloody hell.

Will was watching him through narrowed eyes. Fitz imagined Jemma watching, comparing them, sizing him up against Will, realizing once again that kissing Fitz had been a mistake -- why would she kiss him when her type was obviously superspy hero men--

“Prove it,” Will said quietly, breaking mercifully into his spiralling thoughts.

“What?”

“Prove that you’re really Fitz.”

“How can I--” Fitz threw up his hands and looked around for inspiration. The entire room was white, so it offered nothing. “Agh. This is stupid, Will. You -- you had a secret spot on the underside of a shelf on the third floor of the MIT library where you’d hide little things. Notes, snacks, extra nerf darts, as I discovered to my detriment--”

“When I shot you in the forehead during one of our epic finals period shoot-outs!” Will laughed, and Fitz’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the attempted camaraderie. “I totally forgot about that. “Alright, man, alright. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Fitz lied. “Um, look, Will, I have a  _ lot  _ of questions, but I’m going to start with the obvious one. How the hell are you alive?”

Will’s jaw tensed. “They saved me.”

“ _ They _ ? The CIA-they, or--”

“Come here,” Will interrupted. Fitz hesitated, so Will continued, “Look, I know they’re listening, I just -- I’m not ready to talk to them. But I trust you, so if you come here I’ll tell you.”

Fitz glanced back at the mirror, but no one rapped on the glass or called over the intercom, so he approached carefully until he was about a foot away from Will.

Will leaned over and whispered, “Don’t panic.”

Then he yanked his arms free of his restraints, jumped off the bed, and grabbed a syringe filled with a dark fluid off the side table, holding it to Fitz’s neck as Jemma and May burst in.

“Let him go!” Jemma shouted, her gun leveled over Fitz’s shoulder.

“Jemma!” The fingers gripping Fitz’s collar loosened slightly. “What are you doing here?”    


“Same thing as me,” May snarled. “We have orders to shoot to kill if necessary, Daniels. Let the boy go.”

“Man,” Fitz corrected breathlessly. “Young but very mature man--”

“Sorry, May, but I got a second shot at life and I’m certainly not spending it in custody. Get into the corner.”

“You can’t be serious!” Jemma exclaimed.

“Do it, or--” He pressed the tip of the needle painfully into Fitz’s skin.

“Jem-ma!” Fitz managed to choke out.

“In the corner,” May muttered, not lowering her gun but following Jemma away from the door.

As soon as it was clear, Will steered Fitz out the door, never turning his back to the agents. He backed them down the hallway, May and Jemma following at a wary distance, until the reached an elevator. As the doors slid shut behind them, Fitz heard Jemma curse.

Will released Fitz and leaned back against the wall, massaging his wrists. “Hi, by the way, Fitz.”

“What. The  _ hell.  _ Was  _ that _ ?!” Fitz demanded.

“Sorry, dude, you’re an easy target. You with the agency now?”

“Not exactly,” Fitz muttered. “More like there’s a computer in my brain that belongs to the government.”

“You mean it worked?” Will gasped, stepping up to Fitz again. “The Intersect -- it’s in your head, right now? Can you flash?”

“That’s not really how it’s done,” Fitz sighed. For superspies these people all asked the same stupid questions.

“No, no, of course not. Man,” Will breathed, looking exhilarated. “It was just a hunch, that it would actually go through when I sent it to you, but -- a living, walking Intersect.” 

“I still don’t understand--” Fitz began, but the elevator doors chimed open.

They both turned to see a dark-haired man in a suit waiting in the hallway just outside. Fitz had just started to flash when he felt Will stab the needle into his neck and he passed out. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


By the time Fitz came to, Will and the mystery man were gone, Jemma was crouched worriedly over him, and May was growling into her phone.

“Are you okay?” Jemma asked as she helped him sit up.    


“I think so,” he mumbled, wiggling his fingers and toes. “Just a big groggy.”

“You hit your head when you fell,” she murmured, leaning around to spread his hair gently. “Does it hurt?”

“Um--” He took his time answering the question, distracted as he was by her fingers gingerly touching his scalp. “Not really.”

“Not concussed, then, hopefully.” She frowned, pulling his collar aside to look at the puncture on his neck. “You’ll have to wear a turtleneck to Thanksgiving dinner, but--”

“Dinner?” Fitz asked blankly.

“Your sister’s giant feast,” she reminded him. “Are you sure you’ve not got a concussion? You invited me weeks ago, told me Daisy would kill you if you missed it.”

“Oh, I -- I didn’t think that applied, given that we’re -- not technically fake-dating anymore.” He ignored the hand she extended to help him up and struggled to his feet by himself. “And don’t you need to go after Will or something?”

“He’s not our responsibility now,” Jemma said briskly, ushering him towards the exit. “May and I are to stay here with you--”

“You want to be out there looking for him,” Fitz guessed quietly.

Jemma turned back automatically to his voice but ducked her head when she perceived the words, the fringe of her hair hiding her expression from him. “That would be irrelevant, even if it were true. My job is to guard the Intersect.”

“And apparently to stuff yourself with turkey,” he joked. “If -- if you still want.”

“Can I come?” May interrupted, unsmiling, as she drew level with them.

“The more the merrier,” Fitz said through a forced smile, and Jemma hid her giggle in her hand. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Jemma looked amazing. She had no right to do that, to show up to his family festivities in that silky blue dress that draped suggestively over her hips and had him thinking about what it would be like to kiss her again, to kiss her without thinking the world was about to end, to have one hand on the material over her hips and run the other down her exposed spine, to work one of the straps down and kiss her soft shoulder--

“Glad to see you two together again, man,” Trip said, clapping Fitz firmly on the back. “You’ve been straight moping the last couple of days.”

“I’ll remind you  _ I  _ broke up with  _ her _ ,” Fitz protested.

“Yeah, no one believes that, mate,” Hunter snorted.

“Ignore him,” Trip chuckled, “I got your back, you hear? Just... check with me next time before you break up with anyone.”

Fitz drifted over to where Daisy was explaining the logistics of American Thanksgiving to Jemma, who had never celebrated it before.

“Every family does it slightly differently, and since Fitzy and I are kind of misfits -- ha, MisFitz, get it? -- we’re exceptionally weird, but there are some common staples. Green beans, rolls, turkey, obviously, pumpkin pie, sweet potato casserole--”

“With those mini marshmallows on top,” Fitz added. “Very important, the marshmallows.”

“Oh,  _ shit _ !” Daisy gasped. “Fitz, I totally forgot the marshmallows. I was looking for vegan ones because Trip’s sister was thinking about stopping by and then she decided not to so I just never got any--”

“Hunter’s going to kill you,” Fitz said very seriously. “He’s waited all year for that dish.”

Jemma glanced between them. “If it’s that serious, I’d be happy to go grab something--”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ , Jemma, you’re a guest,” Daisy chided. “Guests don’t do anything at the FitzJohnson Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll get it,” Fitz announced, setting down his beer. “I’m not much use to anyone here anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” Jemma and Daisy said at the same time, and Daisy and Fitz both looked at Jemma in surprise. She blushed prettily.

“Be back in a few,” he called, pressing the car keys into his palm in hopes that the pain would distract from the stupid idiotic unnecessary swooping his stomach was doing.

He only made it as far as the courtyard, though, because Will Daniels was standing next to the fountain. Fitz leapt back slightly once he saw him.

“One girlish scream from me and May and Jemma go into attack mode,” he warned, holding out one of the keys like a knife.

“Relax, Fitz,” Will said placatingly, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he slowly approached. “I’m not taking anyone hostage this time.”

Someone laughed loudly inside and Fitz watched nervously as Will assessed the apartment.

“You still live with your sister?”

“What’s it to you, then?” Fitz snapped. He knew, intuitively, that ninety percent of the resentment he’d felt towards Will all these years was misfounded, but the residual emotions were proving harder to shake.

“Nothing, just... Surprised. Thought you had bigger and better things ahead of you.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us got a chance to graduate.”

“About that--”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Fitz cut him off. “What are you here for?”

“I need to talk to Jemma. Before you say anything, I’m not gonna hurt her--” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

Will chuckled. “Yeah, our girl’s pretty kickass, isn’t she? Fitz, this whole thing is a lot more complicated than you think. That guy you saw, waiting for me -- he’s with Hydra. That may not mean anything to you but Jemma’s gonna want to listen to what I have to say.”

Fitz vacillated, but he figured his only options were agreeing or stepping aside and allowing Will to shatter Daisy’s Thanksgiving dinner.

“Alright, I’ll help you, just -- I have to get some marshmallows first.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Daisy, catch!”

Fitz tossed the marshmallows to Daisy and made a beeline for Jemma, touching her arm gently to draw her away from her conversation with May and Trip.

“Will is in my bedroom,” he whispered, widening his eyes.

“I’m sorry?”

“Will Daniels is in my bedroom,” he repeated, teeth gritted. “He has to talk to you. Something about Hydra--”

Jemma inhaled sharply and handed Fitz her glass. “I’m just going to use the loo before we eat -- back in a mo--”

“What was that about?” May murmured just behind Fitz. He jumped and spun to face her.

“Nothing!” he replied too quickly, his voice too high-pitched. “Just trying to help my  _ girlfriend _ keep regular bowel movements--” He winced.

“Weirdo.” She moved away to sit down.

Fitz groaned quietly and drank the entirety of Jemma’s glass of wine in one swallow. He was fine. Everything was fine. Jemma was in his bedroom with her ex-flame, hunky dangerous superspy Will Daniels--

“Hey, Fitz!” Trip called.

“Does anybody  _ not  _ constantly need my attention?” Fitz muttered.

“You still have those white-water rafting brochures, man? I was just talking to Hunter about it, we should all do a trip sometime--”

Behind him, Hunter was shaking his head frantically.

“Yeah, they’re in my --” Fitz froze.

“Your room? I’ll get them--”

“No, let me!” Fitz said quickly, nearly knocking Trip over as he hurried to keep him from making his way down the hall. “They’re probably buried, it’s faster if I look.”

The door to his room was slightly ajar, which was so unlike Jemma that he paused and considered going back to get May. But he didn’t want to distract from Daisy’s dinner more than he already had, so he laid one hand flat on the door and carefully pushed it open as far as necessary.

Will and Jemma were standing near the window, locked in a passionate kiss.

Feeling slightly nauseous, Fitz shut the door with a snap and headed straight back to the kitchen. Trip and Daisy was just brainstorming things for which they were grateful, so Fitz dropped into his seat, grabbed Hunter’s beer, and muttered, “I’m grateful that Will Daniels is dead.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Trip said into the awkward silence that followed.

May, meanwhile, pushed her chair back from the table and stalked off towards Fitz’s bedroom.

“Was there something in the wine?” Daisy frowned. “Seems like everyone’s running to the bathroom.”

A second later Jemma darted through the living room. “I’m so sorry, I just got a call that my car is being towed -- I’ll be back soon--”

Fitz followed her.

“Where’s Will?” he asked once they were out of earshot of the others.

“He climbed out your window when May showed up. She’s gone to find him -- she’ll probably kill him if she does. How did she know he was here, by the way?” Jemma demanded, rounding on him.

“I, uh--” Fitz ducked his head to avoid her furious gaze. “I may have said something rash.”

“You saw Will kiss me, didn’t you?”

“From where I was standing it looked quite consensual-- Not that, uh--” Fitz sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was coming off like one of those insidious ‘Nice Guys’. “It doesn’t matter, you don’t have to explain anything to me, forget I said it--”   


She cut him off with a hand to his chest, stepping in front of him. “Something just moved in May’s apartment.”

“But you said May was chasing Will--”

“Yes, I did.” Jemma took off her shoes and set them on the edge of the fountain, then crossed the courtyard barefoot, migrating towards May’s door so as to stay out of sight of the window. Fitz followed close behind, mimicking her. She turned back when he nearly ran into her. “Stay here, Fitz.”

“It’s never actually safer outside,” Fitz muttered.

Jemma kicked the door in --  _ that  _ was quite possibly the hottest thing Fitz had seen her do yet-- and leveled her gun at Will, who was leaned over May’s computer. He straightened immediately, whipping his own weapon out of the back of his jeans. Jemma motioned him away from the computer with the tip of her gun and they carefully circled each other, Fitz staying pressed against the wall.

“Jemma, you have to believe me,” Will said steadily, eyes locked on hers. “I was recruited from within SHIELD to go deep undercover -- it took me far too long to realize that everything they’d said about being ‘the real SHIELD’ was nonsense, that it was all Hydra--”

“You betrayed all of us. You betrayed me!” Jemma snapped.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know who to trust.”

“Why did you send the Intersect to Fitz?”

“Yeah, why Fitz?” Fitz chimed in.

“I needed a friend who wasn’t a spy. Someone who didn’t know about Sand Wall.”

“Sand Wall?” Jemma repeated, but Fitz was flashing, Will’s words triggering a cascade of images of briefings and handshakes and screaming patients in dark medbays--

“Jemma, Sand Wall is a real mission. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“I’m not rogue,” Will insisted, lowering his gun.

“Like hell,” May snarled, stepping into the apartment suddenly and shooting Will directly in the chest.

“Oh god,” Fitz whimpered and promptly fainted.   
  
  
  
  


 

He came to a moment later, face smushed against the floor, ribs aching from his fall.

Jemma was kneeling beside Will, one hand splayed over the bulletproof vest that had stopped May’s shot. 

“I’m fine, thanks for checking,” Fitz muttered, pushing himself up into a seated position.    


May hadn’t put her gun away, but she had lowered it slightly and was listening to Will attempt to explain himself.

“I don’t know all the details, but after you shot me -- the first time, a few months ago -- I woke up to people around me talking about a Project Tahiti--”

May’s eyes flicked over to Jemma. It was subtle, but Fitz knew it was significant. 

“They wanted info about it and I couldn’t help them, and they were going to let me die, so -- I told them  _ I  _ was the Intersect, so that they’d have to save me.” 

“Hydra brought you back to life,” Jemma clarified.

“Who knows what they did to him in the process,” May murmured. “He could be half-robot or half-alien by now.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Jemma snapped. She turned back to Will, frowning. “So why do you need our help?”

“I want to turn myself in,” Will explained, and Jemma sat back on her heels in surprise. “If Hydra thinks I’m in SHIELD custody maybe they’ll stop looking for the real Intersect -- they’ll stop looking for Fitz.”

“We can help arrange an exchange, but--”

“I still won’t know who’s really SHIELD,” Will finished for Jemma.

“I can help with that,” Fitz blurted.

They all turned to stare at him like he was a new specimen under a microscope.

“I started to flash on that Hydra guy in the hospital -- I assume he’s Hydra, since you looked pretty terrified to see him,” he added to Will. “If I’m at the exchange I can check out the agents ahead of time, make sure they’re SHIELD.”

“I hate to bring you into potential danger, but you’re quite right,” Jemma agreed quietly, finally glancing away from Will to study Fitz.

“I have an idea about where we can do it, too, but right now we should really get back to Thanksgiving or Daisy is liable to call in a SEAL team.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


The Buy More was swarming with Black Friday customers. Talbot had barricaded himself in his office, the Koenigs were demonstrating new virtual reality tech to a gaggle of teenagers, and Mack was doing all the work for which Talbot would later claim credit.

In other words, it was the perfect place to hand off an undead spy to his agency.

Fitz hovered by the phone display, fiddling with the end of his Buy More-issue tie, until he saw the SHIELD agents enter the store. There was no reaction, no flash, so he glanced over at Jemma, who was perusing the CDs with a red basket over her arm, and nodded slightly. She returned the gesture and went to find May.

Will was standing in front of the wall of TVs, watching some sort of bird documentary without much apparent interest. Fitz hesitated, then made his way through the hordes to stand beside him.

“Hello, sir, welcome to Buy More. Can I help you with anything?”

Will glanced at him and grinned. “You know the tech here is shit compared to the stuff SHIELD is working with? You’d be a kid in a candy store, Fitz, if you’d let them hire you for real. Unlimited resources, cutting-edge science--”

“Which they’d then use to kill people, probably.”

“That’s fair.” Will thrust his hands into his pockets and seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. “I’m sorry I teased you about living with your sister. Jemma’s been telling me about the little team you guys have got going on. You could turn into quite the agent yet.”

Fitz scoffed. “You’re a superspy, Will. There’s no comparison.”

“I’ve done well in my field, there’s no question, but... I’ve got one friend in this world, and you have a life full of them.”

It was like the years fell away and they were standing side by side in the MIT library, panting and laughing after a nerf battle.

“I spent a lot of time hating you,” Fitz admitted quietly. “I’ve not been a good friend.”

“I gave you good reason for hatred.” Will extended his hand, smiling slightly. “But I hope now that you understand why I did what I did you might be willing to forgive me.”

They shook hands, Fitz squeezing harder than necessary to compensate for Will’s muscular grip.

“I’m getting there,” Fitz grinned.

Just then, Jemma stepped up at Will’s side, accompanied by the SHIELD agents. 

“Excuse us, Mr. -- Fitz,” Jemma said brightly, pretending for the agents’ benefit that Fitz was just an ordinary Buy More employee. “Do you mind if I steal my boyfriend for a moment?”

“He’s coming too,” one of the agents grunted, pointing to Fitz.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand--” Jemma started to say.

“We have agents stationed throughout the store. The Intersect comes with us, or I give the order and they execute everyone.”

“Hydra,” Will growled, stepping away from the men.

“I didn’t flash!” Fitz protested.

“It’s okay, Fitz,” Jemma said soothingly, locking eyes with him. Her steady gaze recentered him, drowned out the questions about how they knew he was the Intersect, his worry about Hunter and Mack and the Koenigs and all the civilians in the store. “Let’s all just move into the home theater room and clear this up.”

It seemed she had made a miscalculation, though, because the instant they were in the privacy of the theater room, one of the agents grabbed Fitz. Fitz gasped and fought the man’s grip, but the instant Jemma and Will drew their guns in perfect sync, the Hydra agent pressed his to Fitz’s temple.

“We walk out of here without interference or the kid dies.”

“A lot of good he’ll be to you as the Intersect then,” Jemma snapped.

“Thanks, Jemma,” Fitz grumbled.

“I think we can still use his brain even if the rest of him is rotting,” the agent said dismissively. Fitz groaned.

“Fitz, look at me,” Will said. Jemma glanced anxiously between them, but Fitz focused on Will’s words. “You alright, man?”

“Been better,” he choked out. “This is becoming too frequent of an occurrence.”

“To be fair, when I took you hostage I was only gonna make you pass out -- right, not the time,” Will muttered. “Look, Fitz, just, i have to know -- did you come  _ prepared for battle _ ?”

Fitz grinned. This next part probably wasn’t going to be too much fun, if Will was planning what he seemed to be planning, but it had been a long time since he’d had an occasion to hear that particular inside joke “I always do.”

“Well then--” And just as May had done the day before, Will sent a bullet straight at Fitz’s chest.

With a grunt Fitz fell to the floor for the third time in twenty-four hours. Above him, Jemma and Will easily took out the Hydra agents, their ease and synchronicity annoyingly perfect and graceful. He had to admit -- they made a pretty great team.

“Fitz!” Jemma cried, dropping her gun and running to him. Her fingers trembled on the buttons of his shirt as she scrambled to get to the bullet wound.

The second she saw the vest he was wearing, the bullet wedged in the material but not touching his skin, she pressed a shaking hand over her eyes and scooted away. 

“Sorry, Jemma, that’s something Fitz and I used to say back at MIT--” Will chuckled.

“It’s not funny!” Jemma exclaimed, whirling to her feet and storming out of the room.

“She always did get too emotionally involved,” Will murmured, watching her go. Shaking his head, he reached down a hand and helped Fitz to his feet. “The pain’ll go away in a bit, though there might be bruising. The bullet,” he added in response to Fitz’s confused look. “Thought it’s an apt metaphor.”

“Where will you go now?” Fitz asked, gingerly removing the bulletproof vest.

“Well, obviously I can’t trust anyone in SHIELD -- yourself and Jemma excepted, of course. But it won’t stay that way forever. At some point Hydra will need to come out into the open. And I plan on being a big part of that.”

“How?”

“I’m going back undercover, Fitz.” Will shrugged as if it were the most normal thing to suggest. “It’s exhausting but sometimes it’s necessary. This may be the deepest I’ll ever have to go, but if it means bringing Hydra down, it’ll be worth it.”

Jemma and May were waiting outside the theater room.

Will stopped in front of Jemma and reached out to brush her hand with his fingertips. “We’ll always have Maveth.”

She tilted her head, her eyebrows drawing together, but didn’t say anything.

With a final smile and slight wave for Fitz, Will disappeared into the crowd of shoppers.

“What does that mean, ‘We’ll always have Maveth’?” Fitz asked May quietly as Jemma drifted away.

“I don’t know what he’s referencing, but it means he’s giving her the chance to join him. Once he’s undercover he can’t have contact with anyone from his past -- so if Simmons wants to go AWOL and get back together with Daniels, she has to do it now.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in love with Chuck/Fitz's behavior in this chapter/episode but hopefully that'll lend to a more convincing evolution when he grows up. TBD! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!


	8. Fitz vs. The Bond Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to adaughterofeve for beta magic!!

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“I can do this, Agent May,” Fitz muttered through gritted teeth.

She glanced at him and smiled slightly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you a new handler.”

He checked to make sure the videoconferencing screen was still absent of imposing authority figures before reminding her, “Just because Jemma wasn’t at work today doesn’t mean she went with Will.”

“She’s never been late to a briefing before.”

“Agent May, Mr. Fitz.” The directors of the ATCU and S.H.I.E.L.D. had arrived to the briefing, crowded together behind a desk so they’d both fit in the camera frame. It was the dark-haired woman who spoke. “Can we expect Agent Simmons to join us?”

“She’s--” 

“She’s sick,” Fitz cut May off quickly.

“I’m here!”

Jemma hurried into May’s apartment, head down, wearing an inappropriate number of layers for the balmy weather, and took her place next to Fitz.

“Glad you could make it,” the suit man -- Director Coulson, Fitz knew he was supposed to call him -- said dryly.

“Sorry, sir,” Jemma murmured.

It was a good thing Fitz didn’t have much to actually  _ do  _ or  _ say _ during the briefing -- May had prepped him, but with Jemma here, his participation was no longer really necessary.

And with Jemma here, it would’ve been impossible to focus anyway.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She stood just to his left, the sleeve of her topmost sweater occasionally brushing his arm as she fidgeted.  _ Jemma Simmons never fidgeted _ . He felt an electric current between them, some tension, but whether it was a good thing or not he couldn’t tell.

He knew that her staying -- in Burbank, on this mission, with him -- was not an indication that she had chosen him over Will. Or that there had ever been a choice.

He thought briefly about confronting her, about demanding an explanation, but he knew he didn’t want the answer. Jemma was an agent, here to protect him, and she had stayed for the job. And by this point, he had made his own feelings painfully and repeatedly clear. If Jemma felt remotely similarly, she would have responded by now.

It was time to let go. He would turn his energy towards being a good, though not too intimate, friend with her, and, if that failed, he could figure out a way to keep their relationship professional. He’d had the idiocy to fall for her in the first place -- it was his responsibility to make sure his feelings didn’t make her life miserable.

Fitz hesitated just a moment before he followed Jemma out into the courtyard, where she’d darted the moment the call with Coulson and Director Price concluded.

“Jemma!” he called as he caught up with her, thinking about grabbing her elbow to slow her down but unsure where that fit into his decision to stick to the spectrum between “professional” and “just friends”.

She stopped, no physical contact needed, but she stood with her back to him for a full minute before turning. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but he could tell she had dark bags under her eyes “What, Fitz?”

“Are you --” He let out a breath, realizing none of the things he’d wanted to say to her, to clear the air, really mattered. “Are you okay?”

She flinched, one hand reflexively tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m fine, Fitz. I just overslept.”

“Jemma, if you ever--” He had to stop again. This was proving harder than he thought. “If you ever need to talk about anything...” That was something friends offered, right? He and Hunter didn’t do much  _ talking _ , more just hung out and played video games and drank beer.

“Thank you, Fitz.” Her eyes were earnest but her voice sounded thin, fragile, distant. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for the mission.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Transitioning from spy life to Buy More life was always a bit jarring, but never more so than around holidays.

The Buy More was decked out for Christmas (“and assorted other holidays,” as Talbot begrudgingly added when he was reminded that at least half of the staff didn’t celebrate Christmas) with fake trees and piles of cotton-ball snow and green garlands strung across TV displays.

Ahead of that Friday’s holiday party, Hunter was reminded -- by Talbot, Mack, Fitz, and a memo directly from corporate -- that he must under no circumstances spike the eggnog. The Koenig brothers had on their elf hats and chased Mack around with a Santa suit. (“I’m all for a black Santa, guys, but you make me be Santa  _ every damn year _ ! Find someone else!”)

Fitz smiled weakly, watching the festivities and thinking about where he’d been the year before. Life had been more boring, certainly, but... maybe it had been better that way.

“Hey, man, am I interrupting something?”

His elbow slipped off the edge of the Nerd Herd station and he realized he’d been staring blankly into space. Trip was standing in front of the counter with that impossibly wide and perfect smile, looking...nervous?

“Sorry, Trip, I was -- I was somewhere else for a moment. You know how the holidays are, nostalgia and regrets and blah blah blah... What can I do for you?”

“I, uh--” Trip rubbed his hands together, seemingly struggling for words. Fitz had never seen him struggle at  _ anything _ . “I don’t know how to do this, man, it’s the first time I’ve ever had to-- Okay. I’m just gonna go for it.”

“Okay,” Fitz echoed, grinning.

“I love Daisy, she’s the best thing in my life, she makes me a better man, and you’re all the family she’s got, you’re all the family she cares about, and -- man, it would mean so much to me if you would give me your permission to ask your sister to marry me.”

It took Fitz a moment to process all of that. Then he gaped. “ _ What _ ?”

“Yeah, I--” Trip fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a red velvet-covered little box and cracked it to show Fitz the  _ gigantic  _ diamond ring inside. “I’ve got my grandma’s ring, she gave it to me before she passed -- said she had a feeling Daisy might be the one--”

“Trip, of course!” Fitz said at last, leaning across the counter to clap the other man’s incredibly firm bicep. “Daisy will be so happy.”

“Thanks, bro.” Trip shook his head, a giant smile taking over his face once more. “Soon that’s gonna be literal, Fitz! We’ll be brothers.”

“I’d be honored,” Fitz said earnestly, and they shook hands.

“Look, there’s one last thing -- can you hold on to the ring for me? You know how Daisy is when she’s got big surgeries coming up, she tears the whole house up and cleans top to bottom -- I don’t trust her anywhere near this ring. She’d find it in a heartbeat.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Fitz nodded, pocketing the box. “Just -- don’t blame me if something goes wrong, because it always does in situations like this.”

They both laughed.

“Yeah, okay, man,” Trip chuckled. “I’ll let you know once I figured out how I want to propose, then you gotta give that back, okay?”

“Scout’s honor, or whatever,” Fitz affirmed. He held up what he thought was the Boy Scouts sign, but from Trip’s laughter it might as well have been the “rock on!” sign.   
  
  


 

That evening’s mission required, once again, that Fitz and Jemma pose as a couple. On a tip that a prominent charity was actually a front for international money laundering, the ATCU and S.H.I.E.L.D. had tasked their team with attending a casino fundraiser thrown by the charity.

Hunter’s current girlfriend (or squeeze, or fling, or whatever his preferred term was) apparently used to volunteer for the charity, so Fitz had wheedled an invitation by framing it as a date night with Jemma. Hunter would be working at the Buy More that night and would therefore fortunately  _ not  _ pose a threat to their cover.

Fitz had once again borrowed Trip’s smallest suit, and though it fell a bit baggily on his frame, he was pleased to note the sleeves were a bit tighter than they’d been on their last mission. May’s mandatory strength training must be doing some good after all.

He went to Jemma’s hotel room to pick her up, but before he could even knock, she called, “It’s open!”

It was entirely unfair, Fitz reflected as he stepped in, that there was only one normatively acceptable form of fashion for men and so much variety for women. Jemma had already seen him in a suit, but there she was, looking stunning in a black evening gown with no back and a deep cut, her hair swept up in a bun that was messy and perfect at the same time, like she’d spent hours making it look effortless.

He cleared his throat as she approached. “This should be fun, right? Night on the town.”

She shrugged. “It’s work.” But she reached up to straighten his bow tie like her body didn’t fully believe what her mouth was saying.

He caught her wrists and lowered them away from him, determined to stick to his resolution. “It’s okay, I got it.”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze, and grabbed her clutch off the bed.

On the ride to the casino, Fitz decided that part of being a good friend meant cheering your friends up when they were down. He didn’t know which of Jemma’s limitless problems were currently troubling her, but he didn’t need the specifics to set about fixing things, at least for the night.

“I have never felt more like 007,” he whispered to her, adjusting his cuffs dramatically as they descended a ridiculously elegant staircase into the red-velvet-everything casino floor. “Though, to be fair, you’d be Bond and I’d be the Bond girl.”

She snorted softly but didn’t respond.

“Mm, martinis!” he cried, sweeping one off the tray of a passing waiter. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Since when do you drink  _ martinis _ ?”

“I don’t, but my cover, Leonardo Fritz,  _ loves  _ them.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose, but Fitz caught the barest hint of a smile. “Does that make me  _ Jemima Fritz _ ?”

“Née Simone, yes.”

She shook her head but reached for a martini herself.

As pre-arranged, they settled at the roulette table where May was working for the house. She barely glanced at them as they arrived and took two seats next to a man in a striped suit and far too much cologne.

“Your 100, sir,” May murmured, sliding a stack of chips towards Fitz. He rubbed his hands together gleefully -- the ATCU was covering all costs for the evening.

“Had any luck at the other tables?” the man asked, leaning over.

“Oh, we’ve only just arrived,” Jemma informed him sweetly.

“Well, then, welcome! My name is Gordon -- I’m the regional exec, our branch is hosting this event.”

“Oh  _ really _ ?” Jemma gushed, and Fitz fought back laughter as she turned on what she obviously thought of as charm. She tilted her body forward, pointedly exposing her cleavage, and fluttered her eyelids. “So we have  _ you  _ to thank you for this wonderful, selfless, extraordinary--”

“Ah ah ah, it’s not all me,” Gordon chuckled, raising his hands in defense. “I’m just helping out. Lots of people involved.”

“Of course,” Jemma sighed, leaning her cheek into her palm. “But still, how noble.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “Shall we play?”

“Indeed.” Gordon placed three chips carefully, two on numbers and another on red. “I always bet red.”

“Whereas I, in honor of my lovely wife and her gorgeous dress, always bet black.” And Fitz pushed the entire stack of chips onto black.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” May muttered through gritted teeth.

“All in,” Fitz said cheerfully.

“That’s $100,000,  _ sweetie _ ,” Jemma hissed.

Fitz gaped. “Th- thousand? But you said--”

“Shall we play?” Gordon repeated, grinning, and Fitz could only watch the wheel going around.

“Thousand?” he repeated to Jemma. She kicked him under the table. Well, at least she was back to being uppity instead of gloomy. 

“Red 3,” May announced, sweeping the chips off the table.

“Thank you for your generous contribution,” Gordon chuckled, shaking Fitz’s limp hand. “I hope to talk to you both later in the evening.”

“Oh, you will,” Jemma assured him, and winked.

“Did you just wink at him?” Fitz demanded incredulously as Gordon moved away.

“Did you just lose $100,000?” she shot back, but as she slipped off her stool he caught her smirking.

The $100,000 suddenly didn’t seem that important.

But then he glanced back at Gordon and the man to whom he was now talking -- a man with a large black ring on his left hand --

The flash was so unexpected that Fitz gasped and jerked forward slightly in his seat. Jemma turned sharply back to him.

“Fitz? Are you alright?”

“That man -- that man Gordon’s talking to -- I don’t know who he is but the ring he’s wearing is associated with someone called the Red Skull.”

Jemma and May exchanged a glance, which was never a good sign.

“That’s all we need,” May said grimly.

“Stay here, Fitz,” Jemma ordered, pushing him down as he made to rise. “And try not to lose any more money, alright?”

“How was I to know you meant  _ thousand _ ?” he grumbled, but he pulled the olive out of his martini and chewed on it petulantly as they floated through the crowd towards the man with the ring.

It  _ was _ fun to watch them work from the comfort of his stool, he had to admit. Jemma charmed Gordon, laying her hand on his arm and laughing unnecessarily loudly, while May hustled the other man out of the room, probably with a well-hidden gun thrust against his back. The whole thing barely caused a stir.

“That was easy,” he commented to Jemma when she made her way back to him.

“Sometimes the job isn’t that exciting. Listen, Fitz, can you get yourself home? We’re going to take the suspect to a secure location and interrogate him before we make any moves on the organization as a whole.”

“Interrogate?” Fitz repeated nervously. “Like, torture?”

“No, of course not,” Jemma dismissed immediately. Then she frowned. “Though I may have to talk to Agent May about that. I have a feeling she and I have rather different methods.”

“Eugh.” Fitz mimed vomiting and pushed away from the bar. “I’ll leave you to it then.” 

  
  
  
  
  


May seemed to be skirting him the next day at work, always engaging a customer when he tried to talk to her, but he hurried to her the second the store closed and Talbot declared the Buy More holiday party officially started.

“So, how did the--” He glanced around dramatically. “-- _ Interrogation  _ go? You didn’t have to pull any teeth or--”

She rounded on him, jaw more tense than usual. “Actually, Fitz, the interrogation was a disaster. The man you flashed on? A civilian. His story checks out. No traceable connections to any criminal organizations, unsanctioned military operations, terrorist groups -- nothing. Same with the charity. It’s clean.”

“But -- how?” Fitz asked, dumbfounded. “I flashed.”

“About that.” She stepped up to him, and though he was technically at least five inches taller, he shrank before her. “It was convenient timing, wasn’t it? Flashing right when Jemma flirted with Gordon?”

“What are you implying?” Fitz spluttered, now thoroughly lost. “First of all, that’s  _ not  _ how flashes work--”

“You understand them now, suddenly?”

“And secondly,” he plowed on, “I saw what I saw! The Intersect told me there was something fishy about that man and that ring--”

“Just because the Intersect is a computer doesn’t make it impervious to your emotions,” May said coldly.

“I wasn’t emotional!” he protested. “Jemma and I -- that’s not -- May, honestly, you don’t have to worry about that. And as to the other stuff, the case -- we can keep looking, maybe we misinterpreted the flash--”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped. “We’ve been benched, Fitz. The directors are pissed, we drew a blank and raised unnecessary attention -- so just stay out of it, okay?”

He nearly scurried after her to continue arguing, but Jemma had shown up and was hovering in an aisle nearby, worrying her lip and looking through heavy metal CDs.

“I didn’t realize you were coming,” he said and was surprised when she jumped slightly.

“You did invite me.”

“Yeah, but that was before -- I thought with Will and all--” He shrugged and let the thought die.

“Fitz, there’s something you should know,” Jemma blurted out, her eyes very wide. “There was more to yesterday’s mission than just following up on a tip."

“Okay,” Fitz said slowly.

“May found bugs in the Buy More.”

“What, like cockroaches, or--”

“Fitz. Context, please.”

“ _ Oh _ . Like -- someone’s recording things?”

“Exactly. Like someone knows there are people here worth spying on.” She watched him, her brow furrowed.

“Like someone knows about the Intersect,” he clarified.

“Or has a suspicion,” she corrected quickly. “They may not know for sure--”

“What does this have to do with the charity?”

“We don’t know,” Jemma admitted, voice slightly desperate. “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tip suggested that the charity, or rather the alleged criminal powers behind it, were the ones pursuing the Intersect, but since the charity checked out--”

“There’s a third party still at large.” Fitz nodded, but there was still something else, he could tell. “Jemma, what -- I understand the concern, that there’s a chance I’m in danger, but why are you -- you seem -- you seem  _ frightened,  _ honestly, and that’s scaring me.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has ordered your extraction,” she explained faintly. “They gave us 72 hours to find the person placing the bugs and eliminate the threat and we’ve failed. They’re going to remove you to a secure facility--”

“One of those underground bunkers May is always threatening me with?” he said hoarsely.

“I’m sorry, Fitz,” Jemma whispered, her hands twitching towards him before she retracted them to her neck. “I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to worry. May and I should have done more -- it’s our fault.”

“Of course it’s not your fault, Jemma, there’s nothing you could’ve done, the flash was wrong-- Hang on.” He’d run the numbers in his head. “72 hours? Wasn’t that--”

“The day Will left again,” she confirmed.

“So--” The way she was looking at him it was obvious she knew what question he was about to ask. And maybe it was wishful thinking, but it looked like she  _ wanted  _ him to ask it. But how do you ask your sometimes-colleague-sometimes-friend-sometimes-fake-girlfriend whether she was more upset about her undead ex leaving or the prospect of you disappearing from her life? The puffy eyes, the day of missed work, the distracted air -- could it have been... for  _ him? _

“Your phone is ringing,” Jemma said, breaking his gaze at last.

“Riiiiight,” he muttered, digging in his pocket. “It’s Trip, hang on... Hey Trip, what’s going on?”

“Fitz, man, I think I’ve got it.  _ Skydiving _ . I’ll take her up on Christmas Eve and ask her as we’re freefalling.”

It took Fitz a moment to orient himself in the conversation but then he snorted. “Trip, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. You’ll drop the ring.”

“Damn, you’re right. I should probably just do a nice brunch-- Daisy always likes it when I cook for her.”

“Yeah, do that. Do you want me to bring the ring over later?”

“That’d be great, man. I don’t know if I want to wait any longer -- maybe tomorrow morning’s the time!”

“I’m happy for you both,” Fitz chuckled. “I’ll see you later.”

“Is Trip proposing?” Jemma asked with a tentative smile as soon as he hung up.

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping the ring in my employee locker -- wanna see?”

As if their previous conversation hadn’t happened, as if he hadn’t just been informed that he might need to be removed from his life and kept prisoner forever, they left the Koenigs dancing drunkenly around the Christmas tree -- apparently Hunter had spiked the eggnog anyway -- and headed through the much quieter back halls of the store.

“It’s his grandmother’s, he said,” Fitz explained as he spun in his combination. “It’s really something -- not that I know anything about diamonds, but you can still tell it’s...”

His voice trailed off as he opened his locker to find it...completely empty.

“No,” he whispered, sticking his whole head inside and scrabbling at the edges of the locker. “No, this can’t be happening--”

“I’m calling May,” Jemma said grimly. “They must know you’re the Intersect.”

“That doesn’t matter right now!” Fitz cried, bumping his ears on the frame as he squeezed out again. “Trip’s ring is missing!”

“And you will be too if we don’t find the agent who did this and try to cut them off before they pass your identity along to their entire organization!”

“It’s too late,” May announced, stepping into the room with her gun already drawn. “There’s an ATCU chopper touching down on the roof as we speak. I just found three more bugs around the store. We’ll do what we can, but the Intersect has to move.”

“Wait, May!” Jemma called, stepping between them as May made to shove Fitz towards the back stairs. “Could I have a moment alone with Fitz? I’ll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong.”

May scowled and clicked the safety off on her gun but nodded and stepped outside to case the stairs.

“Jemma, I--” He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be worthy of the duty on his shoulders at this moment and accept what came next with the bravery of a Will Daniels. “I’m not ready to go, Jemma, I -- just, please, whatever you tell my family, if you tell them I’m dead, or-- Tell Daisy, and Hunter, and Trip -- I don’t know, something,  _ anything  _ that will make it hurt less for them--”

Jemma nodded, eyes shining, seemingly unable to speak.

“Just make sure they know how much I love them. You can do that, right?” He chuckled. “Of course you can, you’re Agent Jemma Simmons. You can do anything.”

He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself, but a single tear slipped down Jemma’s cheek and she did nothing to wipe it away.

Instead, she surprised him by reaching out and taking his hands, tangling their fingers. “Fitz, maybe once you’re in a permanent location, maybe I can come visit and we could get dinner and... talk about things.”

He shook his head, trying to pull away from her grip, not wanting half-hearted fake promises from her just to make him feel better. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jemma.”

“Maybe there is. I think we should just... talk about it, at least.”

He looked up at her, where she was crying in earnest now. “Over some wine and candlelit spagbol in my underground bunker?”    


“That would be nice,” she laughed, even as she pressed her eyes shut to stem the tide of tears a bit.

He hesitated, wondering if he should step forward to hug her or wipe away her tears or  _ something,  _ but Jemma made the decision for him by rubbing her cheeks with her sleeve and jerking her chin towards the staircase.

“We should get you upstairs, then.”

“Wish there was an elevator,” he joked as he started up the stairs.

“Ugh, Fitz, it’s like six floors,” Jemma scoffed.

“That’s six more than I normally have to climb at work!”

On the rooftop, a helicopter was indeed waiting, and Jemma had to shout over the whir of the blades to make herself heard. “You’ll be alright, Fitz. May and I will deal with Hydra as best as we can here and once it’s safe -- once it’s safe I’ll visit you, Fitz, I promise--”

He turned to face her, shielding his eyes against the wind. “Bet you can’t wait to stop having to follow me around all the time, huh?”

“That’s not -- Fitz, get down!” Jemma shouted.

She shoved him aside and he fell to the concrete of the rooftop, scraping his hands as she leapt over him, her gun already in her hands as she tackled the woman who’d appeared around the back of the helicopter.

Agent May appeared in the doorway and ran towards the fighting pair but she couldn’t get a clear shot, with Jemma so tightly tangled with the enemy agent.

The other woman landed a sharp kick to Jemma’s wrist, and Fitz thought he heard something snap as Jemma’s gun went flying. Not to be outdone, Jemma grabbed the woman around the waist--

And they both tumbled over the side of the building.

“Jemma!” Fitz shouted, sprinting to the edge of the rooftop, May at his side.

Below, Jemma had somehow landed perfectly in the Buy More dumpster. Fitz saw her roll over and groan, pulling a banana peel out from under her cheek.

The other agent, meanwhile, had not been so lucky.

“Looks like she hit the edge of the dumpster,” May commented dispassionately. “A normal landing wouldn’t produce that much blood.”

Fitz turned back around and vomited all over the rooftop.   
  
  
  
  


Jemma came to see him the next morning, her arm in a sling. They stepped out into the courtyard -- Trip was preparing his special brunch for Daisy, who was due back from a night shift at the hospital any minute.

“No other lasting damage, beyond the wrist. No lingering scent,” she explained, wrinkling her nose.

“And the -- the other woman?”

She seemed to do a quick mental calculation of how much Fitz could handle. “She was S.H.I.E.L.D., Fitz. Or, well, Hydra, we now know, but she was the agent sent to extract you. Things just got a lot more complicated.”

“But the extraction-- if that agent, whoever she was, if she told other people in Hydra about me, they’ll come back. They’ll try again. And they keep getting closer, Jemma -- eventually they’ll get it right.”

“Don’t think about that right now,” she said sharply. “We  _ think,  _ based on her communications, that she has been undercover for quite some time and wasn’t able to inform her superiors about your identity before she tried to take you. You should be safe.”

“That’s comforting,” he muttered. 

“Besides, you have something to celebrate.” Smiling, she stuck her good hand into her jeans pocket and extracted a diamond ring. “Look what the agent had on her when she fell.”

“You’re joking,” Fitz gasped, taking it from her. “This isn’t just some close approximation you had S.H.I.E.L.D. draw up?”

“I promise,” Jemma insisted. “Even  _ we  _ can’t work that quickly.”

He hesitated at the door. “Do you want to come in? Spy on them from the hallway?”

“Oh, thank you, but -- it’s family time.”

He frowned at the tiles under his feet, wondering how his aborted extraction would affect their ... partnership. At last he glanced back up at her, ready to test his luck. “I know.”

She left anyway. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter combined THREE EPISODES so hopefully it made some sense. 
> 
> This brings us to the end of Season 1!!! What happens next?? (I don't remember either, tbh.)
> 
> I changed the Fitz/Jemma interactions fairly significantly from the original Chuck/Sarah dynamic bc I was getting pissed at Fitz as I was writing him last chapter and this felt a bit more true to them. Hope it's not too much whiplash in characterization. :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!!!


	9. Fitz vs. The First Date... part 1

“All the blood is rushing to my head!” Fitz shouted.

“Good, it’ll make for a messier fall,” the man holding his ankles -- not tightly enough, really, considering that Fitz was sixteen stories up from the sidewalk -- snarled.

“It would be the same amount of blood if --” Fitz made the mistake of glancing down at the distant ground and blanched. “Oh Christ. Please, just--”

“Give me the Cipher and I’ll put you down gently.”

Fitz shut his eyes and gripped the device more tightly in his left hand. He didn’t know yet why the ATCU and S.H.I.E.L.D. were so desperate to get this little piece of tech, but if someone this villainous was willing to dangle an innocent Scotsman out a window for it, it seemed the least he could do to hold onto it.

“Why don’t you put me down gently and  _ then  _ we’ll talk?”

“You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands.”

“That’s fair,” Fitz admitted. If he’d had any abs at all, he would’ve tried to lift his torso up enough to look at the man’s face, to be able to identify him later. But unlike Trip, he didn’t spend his free time doing crunches from an exercise bar screwed between the walls of the hallway. So he just continued to hang limply.

From above came a burst like a door being knocked inwards and the man twisted around, nearly releasing his grip on Fitz.

“Let him go!” he heard Jemma order. “ _ Inside _ the room, if you please.”

The man let out a disgruntled sigh and then yanked Fitz roughly back through the window by his belt -- which was nearly not a strong enough material with which to conduct the operation, but Jemma caught Fitz the instant he was inside.

The man leapt through the window, landed cat-like on a fire escape a few stories down, and scurried away.

May lowered her gun and leaned out to survey his flight.

“Why didn’t you stay in the car?” Jemma demanded, helping Fitz to his feet.

“It’s never  _ actually  _ safer in the car,” he grumbled.

“Did you get it?” May demanded curtly.

“Of course I did,” Fitz snorted, and he twirled the cipher on one finger -- nearly dropping it -- before he handed it to her. “Who do you think I am, Agent May?”

May rolled her eyes and stalked to the exit, but Jemma smiled at him, pleased and relieved and maybe a little bit impressed, and suddenly his head wasn’t the place where Fitz’s blood was rushing.   
  
  
  


 

“The Cipher will act as an artificial brain for the new, improved, non-human Intersect,” Director Coulson explained from the giant screen in May’s apartment. “There’s no replacement, so we’re pretty damn grateful to your team.”

Jemma nudged Fitz slightly and he fought back a grin as they stood at attention for the briefing.

“The Cipher was taken from our ATCU labs before it was completed -- needless to say we’ll be increasing security,” Director Price of the ATCU added. “An agent will be by to pick up the Cipher from you, Agent May, tomorrow, and in a few days it’ll be ready to bring on line.”

“Hang on, does that mean--” Fitz blurted out.

“You’ll be able to retire from the spy life,” Coulson confirmed. “Your tenure as Intersect will be complete.”

“Agent Simmons, Mr. Fitz, you are dismissed. Agent May, if you could remain behind for a moment--”

Fitz followed Jemma into the courtyard, head spinning. No more Intersect. No more spy life. One day there, the next gone -- could it be that easy?

“Are you alright, Fitz?” Jemma prodded gently, stopping him with a light hand on his arm.

“I--” Fitz shook his head, unable to form clear thoughts. “I can’t-- I’ll--”

“You’re going to get your life back,” she finished for him, eyes shining.

“I honestly thought this would be my new normal forever,” he admitted. “It -- it doesn’t feel real, that I could just... walk back into non-spy life.”

“Don’t tell me you’ll miss this,” Jemma chuckled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. In case you’ve not noticed, Agent Simmons, I’m not exactly cut out for stealing diamonds and piloting helicopters.”

Jemma shrugged idly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed pretty comfortable talking down a suspected Hydra agent this morning.”

“Really? And I thought my girlish screams had given me away.”

Jemma laughed and Fitz didn’t even try to fight the swooping sensation in his stomach. Considering where they’d started -- on a rooftop, with Jemma and May training their guns alternately on him or on each other -- the mere fact that they could share these soft moments together seemed like a miracle.

“You could do anything, Fitz,” Jemma enthused. “Be anything. Go anywhere.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he chuckled.   
  
  
  
  


Still, he couldn’t help but whistle the next day as he got ready for work. Just a few more days and the Intersect would be someone else’s problem. Jemma and May would be relocated and someone would need to get these secrets out of his head, but -- logistics. For now, he could dream.

He sauntered into the bathroom, a spring in his step despite the early hour, and wiped at the steam on the mirror. He had plans for the day. Big plans.

Wait.  _ Steam on the mirror _ .

He glanced into the room reflected behind him -- and caught sight of Trip and Daisy cowering in the shower, wrapped around each other and  obviously trying to not make a sound until he’d left the room.

“MY EYES!” he shrieked, clapping his hands over his face and stumbling for the exit. “Oh, agh, gross, I’m going to be  _ sick _ , have you lot never heard of a  _ lock _ \--”

“Sorry!!” Daisy called after him.

Breakfast was an awkward affair, to say the least. Fitz sat as far down the table as he could and tried to ignore the fact that Trip and Daisy smelled exactly the same, probably having used the same body wash or something--

He nearly vomited into his corn flakes.

“You know what?” he said suddenly. “I think I should get my own place.”

“Dude, don’t leave on our account,” Trip replied, draping an arm around Daisy’s shoulders.

“We’ll lock the door from now on,” Daisy promised.

“It’s not that. I mean -- do that, definitely do that, but I just think it’s time. I could do anything, you know? Be anything. Maybe that’s the next logical step.”

“Wow,” Daisy grunted. “This is new.”

Fitz shrugged and glanced down at his cereal, blushing slightly. “It feels like time for a change.”

Daisy and Trip exchanged a glance. “Well, you know we love having you here, man,” Trip began.

“But we’d be, like,  _ so  _ excited for you if you got your crap together and stopped working at the Buy More. What?” she shot at Trip, who’d made an admonishing noise. “I hardly think it’s a secret that he can do better than that.”   
  
  
  


“Fitz, Fitz, mate, hang up a second!” Hunter called, chasing Fitz down the aisles. “I just got the specs from Idaho for next week’s Call of Duty match-up against Large Mart--”

“Can I hear them when I get back?” Fitz said without breaking stride. “I was just going to visit Jemma.”

“Mate, when are you  _ not  _ going to visit Jemma?” Hunter groaned, but he stopped at the automatic doors and watched wistfully as his friend crossing the parking lot.

To accommodate the ever-changing tastes of foodie America, Wienerlicious’s ownership had transitioned it to a quaint frozen yogurt emporium, Orange Orange, with minimalist decor and soft lighting. And new wardrobes: Jemma looked up when Fitz came in, and her blinding smile was still outshone by the white capris, little orange tank-top, and the orange headband pinning back her hair.

“I have to say, I miss Wienerlicious,” Fitz lied as he approached the counter.

“I, for one, do  _ not  _ miss the scent of sausage in all my clothing,” Jemma said firmly.

“Understandable.” Fitz pretended to peruse the flavor options. “How many samples am I allowed to take before you kick me out of the store or make me pay?”

“I’ll turn a blind eye for the first three. And your friends-and-family discount still carries over, if you want to eat fro-yo for lunch instead of wieners.”

Fitz scrunched his nose. “Somehow  _ tart  _ is not how I want my lunch.”

“But the candy corn, Fitz,” Jemma teased. “The gummy worms! The little mochi balls!”

“Fine, fine, twist my arm,” Fitz groaned, melodramatically dragging himself across to the wall of dispensers and dropping layers of four different flavors into his cup.

She was still grinning when he reached the register, and he forgot for a moment to put his cup on the scale, so lost had he become in just smiling at her, seeing her smile back. When had this happened? When had they left behind silences and misunderstandings and just... looked at each other so openly and freely?

“Dinner,” he blurted out.

Jemma reached out and plucked his cup, placing it on the scale. “Fast approaching, yes, and we’ll eat it, I’m sure. Get through lunch first, would you, Fitz?”

“Yeah, no, but--” She was waiting for his card, but this was too important to muck up. “Me and you. Maybe we could eat somewhere else, you know, somewhere nice.”

“Oh.” Jemma’s eyes widened.

“A date,” Fitz added unnecessarily, heat rising in his cheeks. “Without aliases, or spy gear--”

“A real date?” Jemma mused, and she was blushing too, but she wasn’t avoiding his gaze. “Fitz, I’m still an agent, there are a million reasons I shouldn’t--”

“Well, here’s one you should,” he cut her off urgently. “In a week you’ll be undercover, in a knife-fight in Melbourne, and you’re going to wish you’d enjoyed one care-free evening of frivolity with your favorite Nerd Herder.”

Jemma pressed her lips together, then said quietly, “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Jemma nodded.

He could tell from the crinkles around her eyes that she was fighting a huge smile, and he imagined she might have the same warm tingling in her chest that was overtaking him.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll pick you up at six?” he suggested, thrusting a $20 at her.

He had to wait for her to count out all the little coins of his change and he considered just bolting then, telling her to keep the $13.66 or whatever it was, but he’d made it this far, she’d agreed to go out with him, and her hand was even trembling a little as she passed him his change.

This life-after-Intersect thing could work out.   
  
  
  
  


“So about your decision to start thinking about your future,” Daisy nudged, trailing Fitz around the living room as he searched for his keys.

“Yeah?” he asked distractedly. He was doubting his decision to go with the blue button-up. Was black more suave? He knew blue brought out his eyes but that seemed like the obvious fashion choice. Would Jemma be expecting something more advanced?

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Finish university, travel the world, learn an obscure language,” Fitz rattled off. Those seemed like the sorts of goals people had. Right now he was about go on a date, a  _ real  _ date, with his dream girl, and that seemed like enough planning for the future for one day.

“Yeah, but like, concrete things, next steps,” Daisy persisted. “Like is there something I can Google? Or do you want Trip and I to talk to some of our friends from undergrad, you know what they say about networking--”

“Daisy, I’ve got this,” Fitz sighed, turning to her and gently stopping her flailing hands. “When I need your help, I’ll let you know.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I’ll let you be all nosy and over-involved.” He’d just seen Jemma appear outside the front window in a pretty purple dress, and if he weren’t already feeling generous tonight, her little wave would’ve made him say just about anything to Daisy. “I’ll see you later, sis.”

“Believe it or not, this was Hunter’s idea,” Fitz admitted as he wound spaghetti around his fork.

Jemma glanced around the little Italian restaurant with raised eyebrows. “So our first date is a Hunter recommendation?”

“Now, hang on,” Fitz chuckled, reveling in the little quirk of her lips as she speared a mushroom. “Do you not have faith in Hunter? He’s always been very supportive of our fake relationship. Even if it is highly improbable that someone like me could end up with, you know...” He gestured towards her and went back to struggling with the pasta.

Jemma stared at him, waiting for the ending to that sentence. “What?”

“You know,  _ you _ ,” Fitz grumbled.

She started to chew again, tilting her head coyly. “What about me?”

He had never seen her like this, as long as he’d known her: Teasing. Relaxed.  _ Happy _ .

“You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” he sighed. She just quirked her eyebrows at him, so he continued, stomach and ears on fire from his own honesty, “Fine.  _ You _ , Jemma Simmons, could kick everyone in this restaurant onto their arses. You’re ridiculously smart, sinfully funny, and extremely beautiful. You can stop me anytime.”

Jemma smirked. “That was very sweet, Fitz.”

“Ahh, sweet,” he groaned. “I was angling more for ‘extraordinary’, but--”

Jemma set her fork down, frowning. “You  _ are  _ extraordinary, Fitz,” she replied, nonplussed by his sarcasm.

He gaped at her for a moment until his spaghetti slipped back off his fork and he abandoned it entirely. He leaned forward onto his forearms -- and was surprised when she did the same, bringing them just a few inches apart above the floral centerpiece.

“What if they didn’t move you?” he asked quietly. “What if you didn’t have to go undercover somewhere new?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Fitz,” Jemma murmured, her hand where it rested on her own elbow as if she wanted to reach across the table to him.

“I still have a lot of secrets in my head, you know. I could need protection. My own personal body guard.”

“That’s an intriguing proposition,” Jemma agreed, slightly breathlessly, and her eyes darted down to his lips.

And then Fitz made the stupid decision to glance to the side, where he’d sensed some of the other patrons staring at them -- nosy buggers, he’d thought, except as soon as his eyes settled on the bald man at the next table, he flashed. And then flashed again on the woman in the overalls. And on the woman in the baseball cap. And the man across from her, and--

“Jemma, we’re surrounded,” Fitz muttered, just as Jemma’s nose bumped his.

Her eyes shot open and her chin clenched. “You flashed?”

“Do you have your gun?”

“Do I have my --  _ no _ , Fitz, you said this was a real date! I don’t bring my gun on real dates!”

They quickly moved apart, settling back into their chairs, as a cadre of men in suits whisked through the door to the restaurant.

“Mr. Fitz, how pleasant to see you again,” the leader drawled, and Fitz recognized the voice that had sounded above him as he dangled from the window.

“Like my face better than you like my crotch?” Fitz heard himself say. Jemma kicked him under the table.

“It’s about equal, actually.” He glanced at Jemma, then sniffed dismissively. “I’m Sunil Bakshi, Mr. Fitz, and you’ll need to come with us.”

Fitz had barely opened his mouth when Jemma struck out at Bakshi with her chopsticks, stabbing his hand and simultaneously landing a punch across his face. Within seconds everyone in the restaurant was on their feet, guns trained on Jemma, and Bakshi’s muscle grabbed Jemma from behind, restraining her.

Fitz had risen from his chair to help, but Bakshi spat blood on the floor and growled, “You move, she dies.”

Torn between a barbed retort and pissing himself in abject terror, Fitz was blessedly freed from the decision when a car -- an actual motor vehicle -- crashed through the front window of the restaurant, knocking aside several of the gunmen and -women and screeching to a halt just beside Fitz and Jemma’s table.

May swung out of the driver’s seat, easily taking out five more agents in mere seconds.

“Someone order drive-thru?” she asked coolly as she leveled her gun at the man holding Jemma. “Damn it,” she hissed, “I’ve really been talking to Coulson too much.”

She ICEd Jemma’s captor right in the forehead, and between them, they quickly dispatched the dozen or so remaining enemy combatants. (Fitz cowered by the car, letting them do their thing.) Bakshi landed a lucky punch on May’s cheek, drawing blood where his ring cut her skin, but he and his apparent right-hand man darted back out the front entrance before May could retaliate.

“At least we still have the Cipher,” Jemma panted. “Maybe once that’s handed off they’ll leave us alone--”

“Yeah, about that,” May muttered. “That ATCU agent whom I was supposed to meet at the drop point today? They got taken out along the way, and a Hydra agent showed up at my door instead. Shot me and took the cipher.”

“ _ Shot  _ you?” Fitz repeated, flabbergasted.

“I pulled the bullet out,” May dismissed. “That’s unimportant. What matters, Fitz, is that for now, until we can locate the Cipher, you’re still the Intersect.”

  
Suddenly the shattered glass storefront seemed an apt metaphor for the hopes Fitz had had for his date, and future, with Jemma. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I am actually looking to unload this fic... It's always kind of stressed me out to write and in a month I'm going on a two-year adventure overseas that will prohibit me from updating it frequently, so rather than just leave it unfinished, I would love for someone else/some other folks to take over it?? Feel free to comment below or write me on Tumblr if you're interested. I'm going to do the second half of this story arc/ep in the coming weeks but then would love to hand it off!! Thanks bunches.


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